


What Came Next

by TheLetterEgg



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: A lot of mutual pining, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, F/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Blind Betrayal, Post-Canon, Spoilers, in case it wasn't obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9795374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLetterEgg/pseuds/TheLetterEgg
Summary: He knew she was right. He knew he was going to lose himself if he stayed down in the bunker. So the logical thing to do would be to go and find something else, a new purpose… just, not with her. She had wasted enough of her precious time on him, and it should be easy enough to avoid her if he keeps his head down. And where better to blend in than Diamond City?She worries, of course. But against her wishes she lets him go, returning to her work as the General with Preston by her side. A shortage of turret parts leads them to a pre-War military building, and what starts out as a simple scavenging exercise soon takes a horrifying turn.





	1. 22:16:35 Since The End

It had been approximately twenty two days, sixteen hours and… thirty five minutes since Danse’s life as he knew it had ended, according to his calculations. It had very nearly ended in a non-metaphorical sense some ten hours and twenty minutes later, and he still wasn’t sure if he was thankful for that or not. He knew one thing for sure, however, and it was that it would _definitely_ have ended in a non-metaphorical way if it hadn’t been for Keys, the Sole Survivor of Vault 111.

She was currently humming at something on the computer terminal in the pre-War listening post he’d made his new home, oblivious to his thoughts – or so it seemed until she straightened up and fixed her dark, almond eyes directly on him. He’d never been able to look away when she did that. Even when he’d first met her. There was just something about her gaze that commanded attention.

“Danse,” she said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here much longer.”

“Why not? It’s a secure, easily-defendable location,” he told her. “You know this.” He was just getting used to it, too. He’d set up his new daily routine here and without that to distract him he didn’t even want to think about where his mind might end up going.

“Look at what happened to the last person who holed up here.” She indicated to the terminal again. “He went crazy. And I can’t imagine he was dealing with half the amount of stuff you are.”

“I appreciate your concern but I will be fine.”

“I just… I don’t like the idea of you being all alone. I have to leave again soon, get back to the Minutemen. You should come with me to Greentop Nursery. I can get you introduced, they’re good people there. Or even to the Castle! I’ll persuade you of the Minutemen’s merits yet, Danse.”

“No,” he snapped, and then seeing her frown added: “thank you. No… thank you. I doubt the Minutemen would be too glad to be working alongside a _synth_ anyway.”

“I _am_ the Minutemen. You already know what I think. And I know for a fact there are some in there already, because I signed them on myself.”

“Then you should rethink your recruitment strategies.”

“Come on, Danse. You can’t stay here forever. If you don’t want to go to Greentop Nursery or the Castle, how about Sanctuary? Or even Diamond City? Nowhere’s better to disappear into the crowd than Diamond City.”

“I told you I’m staying,” he said, patience rapidly starting to wear thin. “I’d rather be alone. In fact, I think you should leave.”

 He regretted saying it almost instantly, _no, don’t go just yet, stay a little longer_ , but she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes and said:

“Fine. If you want to stay here feeling sorry for yourself and wasting your talents instead of trying to do something about it, then that’s your choice. I’ll be back in a few days.”

 And then, before he managed to assemble an appropriately dignified apology, she stalked back to the elevator and vanished out of sight. As soon as the machinery had stopped clunking and she was well and truly gone, an oppressive silence fell over the bunker. Internally, he cursed himself for being so stupid. Now she was gone, and he was alone, again.

The worst part of it was that he knew she was right but he didn’t have the strength in him to do a damn thing about it. He couldn’t face the idea of going out, meeting civilians and knowing he was one of them – no, even worse, he _wasn’t_ one of them, he wasn’t even _human_. He wasn’t a member of the Brotherhood and he wasn’t a member of the human race. He didn’t belong anywhere anymore. Hidden away in an underground bunker where no one could see him or hear him or even know he was still alive, that seemed appropriate.

But she was right. He _was_ wasting his talents. And he probably was going to go mad.

 

 

Four days after she’d gone he forced himself up to the surface, mostly because if he didn’t he was going to run out of food and starve, and since she was probably going to be back soon he didn’t want to worry her. Getting up, going outside with no armour, making himself care, it was _so hard_. He’d gone through years of Brotherhood training, he’d fought Behemoths, he’d walked for miles and miles on wounded legs just to get water, but no. Going up an elevator was the hardest thing he’d ever done, asides from the last time he had to do it, and the time before that, and the time before that.

It took him four shots to take down a radstag. What a _waste_ of ammo. What a waste of a creature’s life, mutated wasteland monster or not. Sloppily killed to feed a synth. He had to take several minutes just to get over his own disgust before he headed down the slope to claim it, though just before he did he heard a distant bout of laughter from the opposite direction. He span on his heels before dropping to the ground, scanning the area below. There – four figures making their way through the wasteland, talking to each other and laughing. Only two were wearing the distinctive hats, but he could recognise them as Minutemen anyway. No other group of organised militia would be so disgustingly lax. He could theoretically shoot all of them and be done with it before they could even react. Not that he would.

He found himself watching them as they passed by, even though he’d already assessed them as posing no threat. Alright, so they were lax, but they were also _happy._ The way they spoke to each other, the way they stood, it was all so clear even to him. They were happy. And, Danse had to admit when a group of bloatflies ambushed them a few minutes later, fairly good shots. He thought about the four bullets it had taken him to bring down the radstag. God, Keys was so horribly correct, just like he’d known she had been. He felt like nothing because he was a synth, but if he didn’t even have the skills he had prided himself on all his life he really _would_ be nothing. She was right. He had to do _something_.

He thought long and hard as he carried the radstag meat back to Listening Post Bravo. He imagined a multitude of ways the conversation with Keys would go down but the outcomes varied from her trying to get him to join the Minutemen again to her saying she was sick and tired of dealing with him and leaving forever. He’d never been good at judging people. Even the _idea_ of Keys losing her patience with him made him anxious to the core. No, he’d have to come up with something without her.

 He assessed his inventory once he got back, partially to see if it would give him any ideas and partially because focusing on something mundane helped keep his mind clear, in the same way that cleaning his guns or doing push-ups did. He had, available to him at the present moment:

  * Seven stimpaks, two packs of RadAway, one dose of Rad-X and a bottle of vodka for purely medical purposes in aid.
  * About five pounds of radstag, two lots of molerat chunks on the verge of going funny, five purified waters and two Nuka Colas in food and drink.
  * Three shirts (one currently worn, one currently dirty), one pair of jeans (currently worn), one Brotherhood of Steel jumpsuit (hidden at the bottom of a box) and enough underwear to last him about a week in apparel.
  * One hunting rifle with 102 bullets, one laser rifle with only 24 fusion cells, three fragmentation grenades and a combat knife in weapons.
  * And a bedroll and seventy eight bottlecaps in miscellaneous.



All in all, not a lot, but certainly more than most scavvers had access to and he knew he _had_ to be better than them regardless of what he was made of. He had skills and training and he knew how to make not a lot of stuff go a very long way. He didn’t _enjoy_ it, but he could do it. So the question, instead of being ‘what should I do with these resources?’, should perhaps be ‘how far can I get with these resources?’.

Consulting the crude paper map Keys had brought him last week, he deduced certainly not as far as the Castle and at any rate he wanted to avoid the east coast as much as he could. If the Brotherhood saw him, he was a dead man, and all of Keys’ sweat and tears as she pleaded with Elder Maxson would have gone to waste. No, no Minutemen.

Diamond City was an option. There would certainly be enough supplies to get him back on his feet there and, as Keys had said, he could at least make an attempt to blend in even if he’d never been good at it in the past. But there were people there who might recognise him – Keys’ friend Piper and that disgusting synth detective chief among them – and the idea of _them_ spotting him, seeing him in his current state, made him feel nauseous. Perhaps he could just wander between settlements doing odd jobs for caps, but that again felt like a waste of his talents. And a very good way to get himself killed, should anyone find out about his true nature.

Almost two hours of intense thought failed to bring him any closer to an answer he was satisfied with. But he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t bear it any longer. For the first time in years he was going to have to do something without a plan, based on gut feeling alone. It didn’t agree with him but it was the only choice he had. He hoped Keys would be pleased with it.

He knew if he didn’t leave now he ran the risk of losing his nerve, so he wrote out a note and, after a moment of thought, left it on the folded Brotherhood jumpsuit on top of his bed. He didn’t know if she’d listen to him. On one hand she was very much an independent woman who did whatever she felt was best, and if she felt like tracking him down was for the best he knew that it would be hard to hide from her with all the contacts she had. But on the other, maybe she’d be relieved to be free from him for a while. Every time he’d seen her step out of the elevator he’d felt an intense rush of guilt at how one, pathetic synth had dragged her from her other duties, her other friends. She was far more patient with him than he deserved.

He tried to push the thoughts from his head as he hefted his belongings over one shoulder. Four hours of daylight left. He hoped he wasn’t going to regret this.

 

 

In the end he found shelter beneath a cliff overhang a few minutes out of Taffington Boathouse, another of the settlements Keys and the Minutemen had their fingers in. He’d considered going and asking the settlers there if there was space for him but if they said yes, then it meant they would let any old stranger with a gun wander in and he wasn’t keen on sleeping somewhere with security so loose. And if they said no then he’d lost nothing by leaping to conclusions and setting up on his own anyway.

As always, he didn’t sleep easily. Whenever he looked up at the tangle of dirt and roots above him he thought about the not-so-distant times when it had been steel above him, all around him, protecting him. The sound of insects and distant, distant voices was a far cry from the familiar chattering of scribes and the clang-clang-clang of Knights moving about. _God._ He missed home. He missed his family. People who would greet him in the corridors of the Prydwen and ask him how he was, who would sit with him in the mess hall and chatter about their work. He wondered how many of them now thought he had deserved to die.

But, on the whole, being outside beneath the clear sky and the slight but not chilly breeze… it was better than the suffocating bunker. So far, no regrets. Eventually he slept, and he woke a few hours later when the sun crested over the horizon to see a radstag fawn pawing at his things. He stared at it, and it ran away. Further inspection of his pack revealed he was now one water bottle down and all his things were wet, so all in all a brilliant start to the day.

While he let his spare clothes air out he consulted his map again and weighed up the pros and cons of each of his options. He definitely wasn’t going to go further east than he had to, too high a risk of running into a Brotherhood patrol. He could go west and perhaps find refuge in Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, another of the Minuteman settlements. He’d been there once before with Keys when she’d been shot in the leg by a mutant. It had been a well-developed and well-fortified little town, with a bar and a market in each of the warehouses and even a tiny inn where he could stay. But would they remember him, even without his power armour? He was meant to be dead, after all, and if word got to the Brotherhood…

No, not west. North, out of the Commonwealth entirely? It was tempting and he knew that it logically made the most sense. He’d be out of harm’s way and into an area where he could start anew. But… no Keys. Regardless of the fact he’d said in the note he’d find her when he was ready he didn’t want to be that far away from her. It was illogical and it made no sense to feel that, but he did. Just thinking about it hurt. So not north either.

This left south, which had the largest number of options. Tucker Memorial Bridge was only an hour’s walk and while the area beyond that was full of mutants at Monsignor Plaza and ghouls at the Cambridge Crater he was satisfied that, without his power armour to make him so obvious, he could avoid most of the fighting. After that the only two settlements within travelling distance for the day were Goodneighbour – he’d rather eat his leg than stay there – and Diamond City. So, alright, some people there might recognise him. But it was a big place. He might be able to avoid them, at least for the day it would take to resupply and consider his next move.

He _still_ didn’t really know what he was doing, and his clothes were still damp, but he gathered himself and his belongings and set out walking again. He managed to make it across Tucker Memorial Bridge and south past Bunker Hill without drawing the attention of anything much, though a few raiders attempted to ambush him as he drew closer to Goodneighbour and regretted it shortly after.

The area that had once been Boston wasn’t easily navigable even without all the ghouls, feral dogs, raiders, mutants and rogue robots, and as he started to wonder if he was lost he was reminded of how much Keys always complained about it.

 _“I hated Boston when it was standing and I hate it even more now it’s rubble,”_ she’d said. He felt a sharp twinge of regret. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so hasty to leave without her. He was starting to miss her already. It wasn’t like he had any other friends now and he was kicking himself for severing contact so abruptly, especially with how callous he’d been the last time he’d seen her. Maybe he’d run into her accidentally. That would be embarrassing but, on the whole, not entirely unpleasant.

It started to rain midway through the afternoon, making the hour he’d spent trying to get his belongings to dry out completely redundant. He was soaked to the bone by the time he staggered up to the front gates of Diamond City. The last few times he’d visited he’d been with Keys and they’d let him through with nought but a suspicious glance at his power armour, but now it was clear that all the guard could see was a very bedraggled scavver.

“You’re not going to cause any trouble, I hope,” said the guard, eyeballing up the rifle Danse had slung across his back. “You’re not a raider or anything like that, huh?”

 He was about to snap at the clueless guard, but then took a breath and thought about what Keys would say. Something sarcastic, probably.

“Do I look like a raider?”

“No, raiders generally wear stuff that’s a little more waterproof. Alright, head on in. Welcome to Diamond City.”

“…thank you,” he muttered, hefting his pack back over his shoulder and dragging himself inside.

 To his relief, there was no sign of Piper at Publick Occurrences, only her little sister sheltering from the rain. He hurried past just in case she recognised him anyway. The marketplace wasn’t busy, he supposed due to the rain, and he was halfway past the noodle stand to go and see how many bullets he could get for seventy eight caps when he heard the owner of the surplus shop calling:

“Diamond City Surplus! No junk on sale here, and no synths serviced either!” and he lost his nerve.

 He edged backwards, suddenly fearful that she might look over and spot him and _know_ , somehow, when he trod on something and heard a squeal of:

“Ow!”

_Damn._

He whirled around and looked down at the woman whose foot he had stepped on, and saw to his increasing mortification that she’d dropped her bag of groceries as well, sending them spilling across the surrounding area.

“My apologies, ma’am, let me help,” he said to her. To his relief she didn’t snap at him.

“It’s alright, accidents happen,” she said instead, a little breathlessly as she gathered up the cans of Pork N Beans. “But jeez, you’re heavy!”

“Er. Again, my apologies.” Still filled with mild panic, he tried to think again about what Keys would do. She was too elegant to have done something so stupid but he tried his best anyway, eventually coming up with: “Would you allow me to carry these things back to your home? I really feel as though I ought to apologise.”

“You already have, three times now,” said the woman with a slight smile, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. “But my arms were killing me so sure, alright. I think if you wanted to steal anything you would have done it already.”

“I assure you, I have no intention of -”

“I know, I know,” she said, almost teasingly. She had a sweet voice, and clearly a very good temperament. Danse knew he wouldn’t have been so patient if someone had walked into him in their obliviousness.

The small woman trotted along out of the market and into the back street of the city and he followed behind, carrying the bag. He glared at the obnoxious ‘Valentine Detective Agency’ signs dotted about this part of town and then nearly walked into the back of the woman he was supposed to be helping as she suddenly stopped.

“Here we are,” she said cheerily. “Hey, why don’t you come in and I can get you something to dry off with? You look like you’ve been out in this weather for much longer than I have.”

“That would-” he started, and then noticed where they were. His stomach sank.

“Come on, there’s no need to be shy,” said the woman, and before he could stop her she pushed open the door. “Hey Nick, I’m back. I made a friend.”

Danse caught a glimpse of that distinctive half-face and a glowing yellow eye at about the same time that the synth caught a glimpse of him.

“Well well well,” he said. “Paladin Danse. I see reports of your death have been greatly over-exaggerated.”

“This was a mistake,” said Danse, trying to back off. So much for his plan to stay hidden. This was why he’d been trying to avoid people in the first place! And the second he got in through the doors of Diamond City he forgot all about it…

“Come in out of that rain, Ellie,” said Nick, holding open the door for her, before eyeing Danse. “You might as well come in too. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“I have no intention of talking to you, _synth_ ,” Danse snarled, before he realised what he’d said. _Synth. That’s you now. You’re a synth, just like Valentine. You and him are the same._

He looked at the unamused face of Nick Valentine, with its missing skin and exposed wirings. Was that what he was like underneath? Maybe not. But he _was_ a synth, same as Nick. And he knew Nick was a synth that Keys liked a lot, probably more than she liked him. So just as Valentine was about to shut the door, he said.

“Wait. I… apologise. I spoke too harshly.”

“An apology? Never thought I’d see the day,” said Nick, eyebrows raised as far as they would go. But he stood back from the door, and, still feeling an unpleasant mix of horrified, embarrassed and soaking wet, Danse ducked inside.

 He’d never actually been inside the agency before, which was why he hadn’t recognised the synth’s – Valentine’s – secretary. It was as poky as its exterior had suggested, but it smelt of coffee and cigarettes and old paper and for a second, just a second, he was reminded of the scribes’ quarters back at the Citadel. Then it was gone.

The secretary took the groceries from him with a demure nod and trotted off to begin unpacking them. Valentine, meanwhile, took a seat and continued to give Danse a very hard, calculating look which Danse found quite threatening. He was almost about to growl at Valentine to stop staring when the secretary returned with a slightly grubby bundle of cloth and handed it to him.

“Here, so you can dry off. You’re dripping everywhere,” she said, and then looked from him to Valentine and back again. “You know? I think I’ll go have a chat with Piper. It’s been a while.”

She made a motion to leave but Danse rounded on her.

“Do _not_ tell her I am here,” he ordered. She looked so intimidated that he felt guilty, but she nodded.

“I won’t. I know what she’s like as much as you apparently do,” she said, and then slipped outside.

Danse sighed. He shouldn’t have raised his voice at her. She’d seemed harmless.

“Are you going to sit down or not?” said Valentine, after a moment. Reluctantly, Danse seated himself as far away from the detective as he could before rubbing at his hair with the cloth, attempting to squeeze some of the water from it. He was _just_ about starting to warm up, but somehow the sensation of being warm and damp was even worse than the sensation of being cold and damp. Valentine still wasn’t saying anything else, which was both unnerving and infuriating. He was just watching.

“What could you possibly want to talk to me about, syn-… de-… Valentine?”

“First an apology and now a name? You’re taking this better than I expected,” said Valentine. He offered a cigarette, which Danse declined, before lighting one for himself. What effect it could possibly have, Danse didn’t know.

“Taking what?” he said.

“Being a synth. Keys told me about it. Don’t look like that, I can’t imagine she’s told anyone else considering what I am. Said she’d had to kill you but I knew that wasn’t true.”

“How?”

“Well for one thing I think she would have been crying a lot more,” said Valentine matter-of-factly. “And for another you and I both know she’d sooner turn the gun on herself than on a friend. She’s just too good for something like that.”

“… yes. She is,” Danse said, unable to believe that he and Valentine were agreeing on something. “Have you… seen her? Recently?”

“Not recently, no. I take it you haven’t either?”

“A few days ago. But I don’t want to see her,” he lied. Well, it was half a lie. His brain knew that he couldn’t and shouldn’t, it was just the rest of him that was disagreeing.  “I just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t run into her by accident.”

“I can’t guarantee that not going to happen at some point, with the way she gets around, but if she was in the city I’d know about it. Why’d you come here anyway? I know you can’t stand me _or_ Piper.”

“I was _hoping_ to get some supplies and some rest and leave without… encountering you.”

“But you stopped to help a woman in distress, leaving yourself exposed just that much longer.” Valentine looked impressed at that, and Danse did _not_ want the admiration of a thing like Valentine.

“Well, I… she would not have been distressed had I paid attention to my surroundings,” he said.”

“Still, you’re less of a selfish ass than you used to be. If I didn’t think so we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”

“I was never-” He was about to defend himself from the barbed comment, but stopped. He’d been wrong about a lot of things in his life, far more than he’d thought. Had he been selfish? He didn’t think so. Wanting to be efficient, to do things logically, that wasn’t selfishness. Keys was both efficient and logical when she wanted to be and she was the most selfless person he knew. But he also knew he was nowhere near as good as her. He flustered. “What – what do you want with me?”

“Absolutely nothing. I could hear Keys’ voice in my head berating me for ignoring you when I saw you at the door, and to be honest, I wanted to see for myself how a Brotherhood of Steel Paladin was coming to terms with the fact he’s a synth.”

“That is none of your business.” He’d been expecting Valentine to take that badly, but instead the detective just shrugged.

“I suppose I deserved that one. And I can tell your patience, such as it is, is starting to wear thin so I suppose I’ll have to let you go. Though before I do, I have to admit I’m curious. Where are you headed next?”

Danse had to think for a moment, not about his answer but about whether Valentine deserved it or not. As much as Danse hated to admit it, the detective _had_ been a fairly good host.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. This seemed to surprise Valentine.

“You don’t know, eh? Planning on sticking around? There’s bounty boards up in the marketplace if you need something to keep you occupied. Mostly stuff about killing ghouls and mutants, so it should be right up your alley.”

“I… shall consider that.”

The idea of being a bounty hunter left an unpleasant taste in his mouth but that part of him which ran on logic and efficiency reminded him that he was going to have to do what he could to survive. He’d always thought he was pretty good at fending for himself, making the most of whatever guns and bullets were available to him, but that had been when he’d been part of a greater whole. He wasn’t anymore. It was just him. No one was going to help him if he was struggling. He was going to have to do it all himself.

“Well, thanks for helping out Ellie,” said Nick, snapping Danse from his thoughts. “You didn’t have to. That shows Keys has been rubbing off on you if nothing else.”

“Tell her I hope her foot is alright.”

“I’ll pass it along. You look after yourself out there, Danse.”

Danse couldn’t bring himself to say anything return, so he simply nodded and took his leave, feeling tense.

 

 

He tried not to think about what his former colleagues would say if they found out he’d had an almost civil conversation with a synth. Well, _he_ was a synth. And he was dead to them in every sense. So he supposed it didn’t matter.

It was still heaving with rain when he left and what little light there had been to begin with was now fading, so he bypassed the bounty boards and headed for the Dugout Inn. He had stayed in it once and found it perfectly tolerable all things considered, though as he recalled he’d been having an argument with Keys at the time and she’d not spoken to him the entire time they were there. It had been horrible.

He found himself dwelling on how much worse her silent treatment was than any shouting match he’d ever been in as he stepped into the combined lobby and bar. For a brief and terrifying second he thought the bartender might recognise him, but then the huge man said:

“Ah! A new customer! Come in, friend, come in.”

“I am not your friend,” he said coldly, and then remembered that the argument with Keys had started because of his attitude and tried to salvage the interaction. “I mean… it’s cold and wet and I would appreciate a room. Please.”

“Of course, of course. Speak to my brother, Yefim. But if you want the best moonshine in the Commonwealth, you come back to me after, yes? Guaranteed to warm you up!”

“I shall… consider it,” he said, for the second time in so many minutes. He went to find the other Bobrov brother before the bartender could talk at him any more, and was relieved to find the one named Yefim was far less chatty. He handed over the room key with barely another word.

Once inside Danse wasted no time in stripping off his damp clothes but failed to prevent a groan from escaping his mouth when he realised that his spares were all damp and crumpled too, though fortunately not _quite_ as much as the ones he’d been wearing. He spent a slightly chilly hour recounting his supplies as he waited for them to dry out, and made the most of the mirror in the corner and a spare can of water to have a shave as well. Once he was redressed, he felt a lot better about things. Still better than the bunker. Still no regrets.

A small amount of food was served at the bar as well as drink, and against his better judgement he ordered both a brahmin steak and a small glass of moonshine, though clearly he and the bartender had different definitions of the word ‘small’. It wasn’t half bad. He knew Keys would be cracking up at the fact that he, the high-and-mighty Paladin Danse, was drinking a civilian’s moonshine. Though he wasn’t a Paladin anymore, and Keys wasn’t here. Both reasons why he was drinking it in the first place.

He was amazed to find himself feeling quite comfortable once the alcohol was in his system. It had been just enough to take the edge off the day, just enough to make him relax, without being enough to seriously compromise his sobriety. The inn had a nice atmosphere at this time of night, too, warm and cosy as the rain pattered overhead. It was busy with people all chatting and laughing together, though if his judgement was correct (and he reckoned it was) there was also a mercenary and a potential client meeting in the corner. But best of all, nobody bothered him. Sometimes it helped to be six feet tall and almost as wide across the shoulders.

He didn’t sleep well. He’d hoped for better, considering this was the most physically comfortable he’d been since he’d left the Prydwen. But he dreamt about the woman from the marketplace, shouting about no synths, and guards bashing down the door, only there were Brotherhood Knights there too with faces he knew, shooting at him, telling him he was an abomination, and he _let_ them, because they were _right_ , and –

He was scrambling for his gun before he was even properly awake. Then, panting as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he remembered where he was. He was fine. They didn’t know. He was fine. He was fine.

He didn’t feel fine. He wished Keys was here. What would she do, if she was? How would she have persuaded him to go back to sleep, since it was plainly still night? She would have done something… sensible.

_“No. No!”_

_He burst back into consciousness, almost hitting Keys as she appeared at his side. He stared at her, breathing heavily. He’d seen them tearing her apart. The mutants, in his dream. But she was besides him, giving him a concerned look with those large, dark eyes._

_“Danse?” she said, carefully. “Are you alright?”_

_“There were… Super Mutants. I thought you were…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. God, the look she was giving him. So caring, so concerned. He didn’t deserve it._

_“Whatever you saw, I’m fine. Do you think you can sleep some more?”_

_“I’d rather not. I’ll… take watch.”_

_“We already made sure this building was secure. But… come on. Let’s do a check of the perimeter.”_

_“What?”_

_“You heard me. We’ll check that there’s nothing there. And then we can go back to sleep.”_

_So they did. She helped him to her feet as best she could considering she weighed a fraction of the amount he did, and with their weapons in their hands they did a sweep of the building. Walking with her in silence, he found the vivid flashes of the dream starting to fade and his heartrate starting to return to normal. She didn’t break the silence until they were back at their sleeping bags again._

_“No mutants here,” she said. “Or anything else. So we can go back to sleep.”_

_He nodded, slackening the grip he had on his gun. He believed her._

_They went back to sleep._

In the absence of Keys he picked up his rifle and stuck his head out of the door. He couldn’t see anything, and by holding his breath and listening _very_ carefully all he could hear was gentle snoring from the other patrons. He was safe. He was fine. He went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading the first chapter of my fic (despite the dodgy title and even dodgier summary), I hope you enjoyed it! It ended up being an entirely different creature from what I originally thought of so you'll have to be the judge of whether the following chapters hold up. I've not posted any of my writing online in 6 odd years so you'll have to forgive me if I commit any fanfic faux pas - with that in mind, I'd really love feedback of any sort!
> 
> See you on Monday!


	2. Illogical Things

“He could be fine, General.”

“But what if he’s _not_?!”

Keys knew that the last thing Preston Garvey deserved was to be screeched at at 9am in the morning, but she wasn’t thinking too much about him right now. The bunker had been empty. The only indication that Danse had ever been there was the jumpsuit, which she had kept for reasons she didn’t want to process right now, and a note in his irritatingly tidy handwriting.

“He’s aleady doing better than I thought he was,” said Garvey patiently. “I thought he was dead.”

“Garvey, look me in the eyes. Did you really think I killed him?”

“Not for a moment.”

“Good. But Paladin Danse _is_ dead, you understand. Dead to the Brotherhood of Steel. This other man I’m looking for doesn’t have anything in common with him, OK?”

“Understood. If he’s anything like Danse, which he apparently isn’t, he can take care of himself. His weapons are gone, right? And it’s not like he could leave his training behind even if he wanted to.”

Keys squinted at him. There was nothing but complete and pure-hearted sincerity on his face, as always. She deflated.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Garvey. I didn’t meant to shout.”

“It’s alright. I know you’ve been worried about him. You… may have mentioned him in your sleep last night.”

“Oh.” Well that was mortifying. Thank God Garvey was a good sport. She was glad she had brought him along, even if it had only been on a whim. She’d asked him to look around an abandoned building while she went to check on Danse, and he had been very patient with her when she’d come back and told him what had happened.

“What would you like to do now, General? I’m sure between us we could track him down.”

“He asked me not to in his note. He said he wanted to do it alone.”

“Are you going to let him?”

Keys bit her lip, a habit which often left it raw or even bleeding. Her brain, her heart and her gut were all saying different things, though in the end she went with her gut, supported by her brain, while her heart screamed obscenities at the both of them.

“I think you’re right about him being OK. He’s a capable warrior. And I think _he’s_ right too, this is something he should do alone, at least for a while. He needs to find his own motivation. I can’t give it to him… as much as I wish I could.”

She could tell her answer had impressed him from the trace of a smile on his lips, and he nodded.

“For what it’s worth, I think this will help him in the long run.”

“Thanks, Garvey.”

“What would you like to do now?” he asked. She thought for a second.

“Are there any settlements that need our help?”

“Always, General.”

 

As the two of them marched across the wasteland, towards Taffington Boathouse, she found it hard to stop thinking about Danse. He hadn’t been in a good place the last time she’d seen him, or several times before that, and she was worried for him. She believed him when he’d written that he wanted to find a purpose for himself, but she wasn’t sure if he’d be taking care of himself. When she’d shown up to Listening Post Bravo just over a week ago she’d discovered that he’d barely eaten for three days, barely moved from the bed in the corner of the bunker. It was so hard to persuade him that he was worth caring for.

“You look as though something’s troubling you, General,” said Preston, breaking the quiet between them. She looked into his brown eyes, weighing up whether to tell him the truth or not, before deciding that it wasn’t her truth to tell. She already felt like she’d said too much about Danse to him, so she said:

“It’s – it’s nothing, Garvey. Don’t worry about it.”

“If you’re sure. I’m always here for you if something’s bothering you, though. You know that.”

“I do,” she said, managing to find it within herself to smile. Another reason she liked to travel with him. Piper and Nick were both good people but they were sarcastic as all hell, even more than she was. It was nice to be around someone who was rarely anything other than completely sincere. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“Thanks General.” He smiled back, and they settled back into the comfortable quiet they often travelled in.

She wondered what the situation would have been like if she _had_ found Danse there. Now she was reflecting on it she wasn’t sure if she would have been able to limit herself to just a quick drop in on her way past. Terrifying underground bunker or not. Would she have been able to persuade him to come with them? He didn’t like Garvey much but she was fairly sure that on the long list of people he didn’t like, Preston was towards the bottom. Danse had been known to confess he admired the Minuteman’s commitment and loyalty to his cause, even if he thought the cause was unrealistic.

She _really_ wished she’d been able to convert Danse to the Minutemen. She’d imagined that the training and the drills and exercises would have been comfortingly familiar to him, and that maybe he would feel at home amongst an organisation that sought to do right by the Commonwealth. He’d have been in safe hands, at least; she trusted each and every ranking officer based at the Castle with her life. And he’d be close by for when she visisted. Not that _that_ mattered, she told herself.

She decided to ask Preston for any settlement updates he had, and he had just finished going through the list when they arrived at the boathouse.

“General Keys! Colonel Garvey! It’s an honour to have you here,” said the oldest of the settlers and the de factor leader, striding out to greet them. “And truth be told, a bit of a relief.”

“Is something the matter?” Keys asked. She glanced around. Asides from the fact that the house was getting a bit stuffy with all the people crammed into it the place was looking in fine condition. Corn and tato vines grew tall and strong, the water purifier chugged away, the turrets – ah. The turrets. “Your defenses are damaged. Is that it?”

“They certainly look like they’ve seen better days,” said Preston, and the settler nodded.

“Damn well saved our hides from a load of Gunners the other day, but they all got shot up in the process. And we’ve run out of _all_ the materials needed to fix them. No screws, no gears… apparently there aren’t any, anywhere, from Tenpines Bluff right the way across to the Slog. All the traders have been saying so.”

“Sounds like I’ll have to do some more scavenging, then,” said Keys, a tad wearily.

“We’d all appreciate it, General. You travel a lot further than any of us could so I imagine you might be able to find somewhere that hasn’t been gutted out by Raiders, Gunners or, well, people like us.”

“We would have to go quite a ways,” Preston pointed out. “But if we go to Starlight Drive-In and then across to Sunshine Tidings we might find something. There’s a lot of unexplored buildings to the east.”

“Yeah. We’ll just have to cut out that detour to Graygarden we were planning.” She sighed heavily. “I was _really_ looking forward to that boiler I installed last time.”

“A boiler? For hot water?” said the settler, whistling. “Hot damn, wouldn’t mind one of those here!”

“One in every settlement, someday, I promise,” said Keys firmly. She meant it. Boiling pans of water over a fire was all very well if you just wanted to scrub a couple of pairs of trousers but she _knew_ that if she could drag the hygiene standards up a couple of notches then _everything_ would start to get better. Less time spent sick would mean more time spent growing crops, learning to shoot, getting to know neighbours. Not to mention everything would _smell_ better.

“I don’t suppose you’d put Sanctuary at the top of the list?” said Preston, though she could tell he was joking.

“Maybe,” she said, before turning back to the settler. “Would it be alright if we had lunch here before we head out for Starlight?”

“Of course! Be our guest. Talk to Taffy if you’re hungry, she can do things with a cob of corn you wouldn’t dream of.”

“Alright. Thanks, sir.”

“No problem, General.” He tipped his hat to the two of them and, shouldering their weapons, they wandered further into the settlement.

Keys had to admit to herself that she considered certain settlements to be her ‘favouites’. Sunshine Tidings, Nordhagen Beach, Somerville Place. Whether it was the people or just the potential for development she enjoyed being there and working on them more than on other places, and while Taffington wasn’t among the top ranks it was certainly still highly regarded. Especially when she bit down on the knobbly corn cob the girl named Taffy had produced for her.

“This is really good,” she said, and the girl beamed. “It’s like something I would have eaten before the War. Is that… butter?”

“Yeah!” The girl grinned.

“This is delicious. _So_ much better than the last time…” she trailed off, as she remembered. “The last time I had corn on the cob.”

 

_“Are you sure that’s edible, Danse?”_

_Danse looked surprisingly hurt at her jab. They’d both been in the bunker for a few days now and she’d spent every moment of it making sure she was kind and understanding, but sarcasm just came so naturally to her. She couldn’t help it._

_“I did my best,” he told her. She took the blackened corn cob from him. “You should be well aware by now that I am not a cook.”_

_“Which is why I’ve been doing all the cooking for the past few days.”_

_“I wanted to let you rest.”_

_The pulled muscle in her leg, acquired from being knocked down a hill by a radscorpion, agreed with his decision. The more she sat down and rested the quicker it would heal. But the rest of her wished she’d insisted when he’d volunteered a few hours before. She’d sampled his cooking a couple of times in the past and it was honestly astonishing how much he could get wrong. She nibbled on the corn anyway._

_“I’m sure you would have done it better,” said Danse wearily. “I’m sorry you have to put up with… this. With me.”_

_“I don’t care about the food, Danse. I just want to be here with you, and I’d starve if it meant you were OK.” So maybe that had come out a bit too strong. He looked startled, but then the angles of his face softened. He was touched, too, but she was afraid of the intimate direction the conversation appeared to be heading. “And if I leave you in charge of cooking then I might have to prove it. Jeez, Danse! How can you burn corn on the cob?”_

_Fortunately he appeared to be glad for the lightened mood as well. There was a very,_ **very** _faint trace of a smile on his face._

_“Apparently with great ease.”_

“Same here,” said Preston, inadvertantly bringing her back to the present. “Sturges is not a good chef.”

“I can imagine,” said Keys, shaking away the last of the memory. “Thanks for the food, Taffy. You keep cooking the way you are, soon everyone in this settlemet is going to be able to take on a Super Mutant bare handed.”

Taffy beamed.

“I don’t know about _that_ , General, but thank you!”

“We should be on our way,” said Preston, standing up and picking up his laser musket from where he’d propped it in the corner of the room. “General?”

“Yeah, you’re right. If we don’t get a move on it’ll be dark before we get to Starlight. Thanks for your hospitality, Taffy. I _promise_ you’ll be at the top of the list to get a boiler once we’ve found the parts.”

After saying their goodbyes to the settlers of the boathouse, the two Minutemen headed back out onto the road. It wasn’t until the very top of the recruitment beacon had disappeared over the bump of the hill that Preston spoke.

“You were thinking about something, when we were eating. Are you _sure_ you’re OK?”

“I’m fine. I’m just distracted…” she started, but was aware of how weak an explanation it was before she was even halfway through. “…which isn’t really fine at all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I _want_ to, Preston. I know it might help. But I don’t know if I can. It’s about Danse. I don’t want to accidentally betray his trust. You know how private he is, now more than ever.”

“Hm.” He considered this. “Are you still worried about him? I thought you agreed that he was doing the right thing.”

“I _did_. And I still think that. But I’m worried anyway. I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.” He smiled softly. “You care about him, so you worry about him. Nothing more simple than that.”

“It doesn’t _feel_ simple. I _know_ he’s strong and a capable tactician. He’s survived explosions, having his arm nearly ripped off, falling off a building… he’s a really tough guy. So it doesn’t make any sense, at all, to be worried. In fact it’s just stupid. It’s distracting.” Stupid _Danse._ How could he have just run from her? Didn’t he _know_ how she would’ve felt about it? Or maybe he did, and that’s why he did it? _Grr._

“I see why you like computers so much,” said Garvey, both caring and amused at the same time. “They’re pretty logical. Illogical things really upset you.”

“Yeah, they do.”

“I’m no expert, but I think you should allow yourself to be worried. Allow yourself to feel things. Don’t get mad at yourself for caring about someone. That’s not good for anyone.”

“I know…” She sighed. “You know what the funny thing is? I’ve said the exact same stuff to Danse.”

“I can believe that. No wonder you got on so well.”

She thought for a second. She hated the feelings she was experiencing, and even more she hated the fact that they were the fault of one man.

“I… I’ll give him a week or two,” she declared. “And then I’ll go and find him. That should be enough time for him to start working things out, right?”

“I couldn’t say, General, but I’ll help you with whatever you need.”

“Thanks. At the moment though, I need to help these settlements. They come first.”

She could tell he was proud of that, and gave her a firm nod and a cautious smile as she led them onwards into the Commonwealth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first sat down to begin writing this fic I had no intention of writing the 'other half' of the story, but then it just... happened. I was also worried that Keys would come across as rather Mary Sue-ish if all you got was Danse's view of her, romantic sap that he is. Also, every minute I spend writing Preston Garvey is a minute added onto my life. I love writing him so much. So long story short, that's how a fic about pining turned into a fic about _mutual _pining.__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _See you on Friday! Any questions, queries or feedback in the meantime can be directed to my tumblr, eggplantwitch. (or, you know, the comments)_  
>  _


	3. Real People

Danse ate breakfast in his room. He was still feeling a little fragile and was in no mood to face Vadim and his booming voice at this time of day, nor did he want to go to the marketplace and listen to the junk trader shouting about synths while he ate. Eventually, however, he packed up his now-dry things, said a small ‘thank you’ to Yefim and left before Vadim had time to spot him and start talking.

He could _almost_ hear the junk trader shouting about synths, but fortunately the far more pleasant tones of the weapons and ammunition trader were louder. He was affable without being overbearing, and at the end of their conversation Danse left with a few more clips for his hunting rifle at an almost reasonable price. He’d eyed the fusion cells, but right now he just didn’t have the caps. This reminded him of what Valentine had said yesterday, about the bounty boards, and after a few minutes of confused wandering he managed to track them down. One called for ghouls to be cleared out of an old metro station but offered no reward (tempting and justified, but not when he had no fusion cells) and the other asked for a few rowdy raiders south of the city to be taught a lesson. It offered a 100 cap reward, and 100 caps was 100 caps. He took the piece of paper from the wall before he crouched to squint at the others and-

Someone jabbed him _right_ in the ribs. He whirled around, hand reaching for his holstered gun-

“I’d recognise that ass anywhere, power armour or not,” said Piper. He relaxed, though he was still furious. “You’re looking pretty good for a dead man.”

“Piper,” he growled. He wasn’t sure who he hated more at this point: Valentine, or Piper. At this moment in time it was definitely Piper. At least Valentine acted professional. “Back. _Off_.”

“Woah. Someone got out the wrong side of bed this morning.” She put her hands up defensively. “Relax, believe it or not I just wanted to check on you.”

“I _don’t_ believe it.” He backed out of her reach as she made a move to place her hand on his arm. “Leave me alone before you draw attention to us.”

“It’s not like you’re hard to miss, Mr Ain’t No Hand Me Down.”

“What?” Now he was confused as well as annoyed. He was about to chastise her further when he noticed what was coming through the city gates.

“Uh, hello-o?” said Piper. She waved her hand in front of his face, and then followed his gaze.

“Brotherhood,” he said, once his heart resumed pumping. One Knight, two scribes. They must be on a research patrol. He _knew_ it was a mistake to come here, he _knew_ it, he _knew-_

“Oh jeez, that’s right, you’re dead aren’t you? Come on.” Piper grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and he went to snatch it away.

“Let _go-_ ”

“Do you want to live or not?” she hissed, dragging him around the corner just moments before the Brotherhood made their way into the city proper. Despite the fact he wanted nothing more than to wrench himself from Piper’s grasp and run in the opposite direction, he knew that she was probably the best person in the city to help him keep out of sight. If there was anyone who knew about snooping around in this stadium it was her. Quite _why_ she wanted to help him he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to argue.

A few minutes later she shoved him unceremoniously through a discrete metal door before following him in herself.

“Home sweet home,” said Piper as Danse caught his footing. “Careful there, big guy.”

He scowled at her, but opted to take in his surroundings instead of speaking her. Judging from her comment, this must be where Piper and her sister lived. It was pretty humble, though with a bit more room than Valentine’s Detective Agency and a few more signs that a child lived here. Chalk drawings, battered textbooks from the schoolhouse and sweet wrappers strewn around. It felt more like a home than an office.

“Don’t break anything while I’m gone,” said Piper, breezing past him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He was stuck in the home of a stranger while three trained soldiers who would shoot him on sight wandered the city. And now she was leaving?

“Calm down, I’m just going to ask Nat to tell us when those goons leave since we’re so close to the gate. Man, I’m glad I invested in Diamond City real estate.” And before he could say anything else she left. Unsure what else to do, he deposited his pack besides the sofa and sat down. Normally he would have preferred to remain standing, as it would put him in a better position to retreat should the need arise, but he felt weak all of a sudden and was glad to take the weight off his feet.

He’d gone from being one of them to being one of the enemy in a matter of minutes. _God,_ how he wished he could be walking along side them instead of hiding from them…

“You OK?” said Piper as she reappeared in the doorway, shutting it firmly behind her. He just nodded. He didn’t like being in debt to anyone, especially not people he didn’t even like that much. However he still, after a moment, managed to find it within himself to say:

“…thank you.”

“No problem. If I hadn’t they probably would have shot you, and then Keys would have shot _me_ for not helping.”

“I don’t think that’s very realistic. The part about Keys.”

“It’s called hyperbole,” she said, rolling her eyes in an aggravating fashion. “But no, seriously. She would’ve been upset.”

Danse wasn’t sure how to respond to that, though he was reminded of Valentine mentioning Keys as a reason for helping him too. He was lucky that Keys inspired so much loyalty in her friends that it spilled out to people they didn’t even like that much. He would have to thank her for that, when he saw her next. However long that was. He hoped it was both weeks and hours at the same time. He wanted to be a better person when she met him next, but he also knew that becoming a better person would be easier with her by his side. And he just straight up _missed_ her. He was trying not to dwell on that too much, considering it inappropriate, but he did.

“I almost think I liked you more when everything you said was rude, rather than just not talking at all,” said Piper, which launched him from musing about Keys to musing about what her friends had said to him. He _wanted_ to be a good person, for Keys. And good people didn’t get called rude.

“Valentine, he said I was selfish. And you just called me rude. Am I truly that horrible a person?” he said to her. She looked like he’d hit her rather than asking a simple question.

“Woah,” she said. “I didn’t know you gave a damn what we thought. Nick’s a filthy synth, remember? And I’m a useless civilian who sticks her nose into other people’s business?”

“I… don’t recall saying that about you.” He _did_ remember describing Valentine as such and worse, however.

“Trust me, you did,” she said, deadpan. Then she shrugged. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but you had a real nasty look on your face when you said it.”

He rested his elbows on the tops of his knees, hands clasped together. She _had_ just saved his life, potentially.

“I apologise for the way I may have acted in the past.”

“I’ll accept that apology,” she said, cracking the cap from the top of a Nuka Cola, “if you tell me what made you change your mind.”

“You mean you don’t already know? Valentine already knew.”

“No?” She looked slightly alarmed at the tone of his voice. “All I know is that a few weeks ago Keys appeared of nowhere, like she does, took me to the Dugout to get herself blackout drunk and told me the Brotherhood had tried to kill you. She didn’t really say if they were successful or not.”

“The Brotherhood attempted to have her execute me herself.”

“Jesus. She missed that part out, no wonder she wanted to get hammered. I thought you were one of their best soldiers? What the hell happened? And didn’t they know how dumb an idea that was, considering how protective Keys is?”

“You truly don’t know?” He looked up from his hands. He wasn’t the best at gauging emotions in other people at the best of times, but as far as he could tell Piper certainly _looked_ sincere.

“I told you I don’t know anything other than what Blue told me,” she said. He regarded her for a moment.

“In that case I shall keep as much of what remains of my life as private as I can.”

“Aw, c’mon! I unforgive you!”

“Hate me all you want. I don’t care.” He stood up, reaching for his belongings. “I should not have come here.”

“No, wait,” said Piper, in an attempt to stop him. He reckoned if he was quick he could make it from the front door of Publick Occurrences to the city gate without being spotted by anyone more than a few guards.

He was reaching for the doorhandle when the reporter said:

“It’s something to do with synths, isn’t it?” and he froze. He didn’t know why. Maybe because he knew that if he left she’d take that as a confirmation. “You… helped one? No, I know Blue’s persuasive but she’s never been successful at convincing you they’re people before. And I’d like to believe the Brotherhood isn’t so violent as to kill you just for that.”

“I thought you hated synths,” he said, not _quite_ managing to find the strength to turn from the door to face her again. “Once, I considered it one of your strongest qualities.”

“I don’t hate synths. I hate the Institute,” she said with great conviction. “I know about the Railroad, and I believe in what they do. Those synths escaped, they didn’t want to be agents or killers. They just wanted to be free, like us. Hell, if I hated synths, do you really think one of my only friends would _be_ a synth?”

“Free, like us,” he echoed. He forced himself to turn around _just_ as the realisation dawned upon Piper’s face.

“ _You’re_ a synth,” she said. “You are, aren’t you? And you didn’t know?”

“No! I did _not_ know I wasn’t a real person!” he snapped. He slammed his hand against the wall; the only outlet he had. It hurt but he didn’t care. He felt even worse when he saw Piper flinch – he’d scared her, he was _scaring_ her – but then she scowled and folded her arms in a determined fashion.

“That’s bullshit. The part about you not being a real person, that is. Trust me, I believe that you didn’t know. I don’t think anything in the whole world could _pretend_ to hate synths as much as you did. Now sit down. You look like you’re about to punch a hole in my wall.”

He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to stamp out the whirling mess of emotions. He was ashamed, he was embarrassed, he was scared, he was _furious_ , furious at everyone and at everything and at himself most of all.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re OK,” said Piper, “because that would be dumb. But please? Sit down?”

 Stop. Breathe. What would Keys do?

Very slowly, he walked back to the sofa. He knew what she’d do, because he could remember.

 

_“You have to trust people to get them to trust you,” she said, having found them shelter for the night at a small farmstead. He dwelled on this as she removed her helmet and began unclipping her armour._

_“But it’s impossible to tell who will return that trust and who will abuse it. That’s why time and respect is necessary,” he replied. The number of people he had trusted in his whole life was in the single digits. Perhaps Keys could sense this, because she gave him a look that was half-pity and half-worry._

_“You’re right,” she said, “but I think out here… we don’t always have the time we need. What I told you about my husband, my son… it’s because I wanted to trust you. Badly. And I was right about my hunch. Imagine if I hadn’t trusted you with that. Would we still be talking? Would we have had any reason to be friends?”_

_“Of course. We had our work.”_

_“Work breeds colleagues, not friends. I told you about my pain, I trusted you with it even though all you were to me was a soldier in a power suit. And then… you told me about Cutler. It made you my friend. Would you have trusted me with that pain if I hadn’t shared mine first?”_

_“I… couldn’t say. I’d like to believe we would be friends no matter what.”_

_“Me too. But you should be more willing to trust, or else you’ll never get that kind of bond you had with Cutler again.”_

 

He looked up at Piper. He didn’t trust her, and he didn’t want to be her friend. But, now that he’d separated himself from the only person capable of protecting him with both her words and her weapons, now that he was trapped in a building while those he had once called brothers threatened to kill him… he didn’t have a choice. And, he reminded himself, _Keys_ trusted her. That should have been good enough for him all along. He sighed a shaky sigh.

“I can’t remember if you drink or not,” said Piper. “You sure look like you need it.”

“It’s ten in the morning,” he pointed out grimly.

“’No thanks, Piper’,” she said, lowering her voice in what he supposed was meant to be an imitation of himself. “’Thank you for your ever-so-generous offer.’ What about a Nuka Cola?”

He rubbed his eyes, sighed again, and said:

“…fine.”

A few minutes later they were both sipping their drinks in silence. Danse was thankful for this. Piper was inquisitive by nature and he knew she _must_ have a dozen questions for him, but instead of asking them all she kept her mouth shut. He was still expecting her to open it at any minute and was trying to be prepared, and he was right. She did have a question for him. It just wasn’t one he was expecting.

“You feeling any better?” she said. “I always feel better after a Nuka Cola, but then again… I’ve never had to deal with the same things you have. I’m… really sorry, by the way.”

“Why?”

“You just lost everything you ever knew, everything you dedicated your _life_ to. That can’t be easy. I’m just saying that I’m sorry you had to go through that. Sure, you were rude, but you never deserved anything like that.”

“Um. Thank you.” He had no idea what else to say. “I… think. And. I’m sorry to have trespassed on your time and your home.”

“It’s fine. I was feeling a bit bored anyway,” she said with the trace of a smile. She’d never smiled at him sincerely, only when she was teasing him. Perhaps he was seeing a little of the something that had drawn Keys to her. “Hell, if you want, you can sleep on the couch tonight. Keys always does if she’s not taking up the spare at the Agency.”

“Are you sure?”

 She shrugged, as though it were no big deal.

“It’s what I would want if it were the other way around,” she told him. “And I’ve always been curious as to what it was Keys saw in you.”

“I have often asked that question myself.”

“If you want I could probably try and answer that. Based on what she’s told me rather than my own observations, you understand.”

“She’s spoken about me?” He wasn’t sure if he found that extremely flattering, because it meant she was thinking about him when he wasn’t directly in front of her, or extremely unnerving, because it meant she gossiped about him with people like Piper.

“Uh-huh.” Piper nodded. “She thinks you’re a good guy. Strong, brave, dedicated. Good eyebrows – hm, gotta agree with that one.”

“Excuse me?”

Piper grinned wickedly, a look on her which Danse found much more familiar than the small smile from before.

“Forget I said anything,” she said airily. Then she and Danse snapped their heads up as the door opened. Danse was scrambling for his gun when Piper’s sister walked in. She gave Danse a funny look, but announced:

“Those Brotherhood guys are gone, Piper.”

“How long ago did they leave?”

“Just now.”

“OK. Thanks, kid. How about I come out and sell some papers with you?”

“That’d be great.” Nat beamed. Piper looked back down at Danse.

“Are you gonna be OK?” she asked. Danse wasn’t sure, so he just grunted and let Piper interpret that how she pleased. Apparently she interpreted it as a ‘yes’, because the next thing she said was:

“Alright, I’ll be out here. Get some rest, OK?”

He nodded, before she and her sister went back outside. He could hear them talking to each other and calling out to the residents of the city. It was… reassuring. It made him feel less alone. Still better than the bunker. Still no regrets.

 

A couple of hours later he was on the brink of dozing off, out of sheer mental, physical and emotional exhaustion rather than comfort, when Piper opened the door and appeared back inside.

“I know I told you you could sleep on the couch but I didn’t mean right _now_ ,” she said as Danse hastily sat back up, swinging his legs down from the end of the sofa. “At least you took your shoes off, I guess.”

“I… sorry. I was merely tired.”

“Understandable.” She nodded, before propping the door ajar using a large rock Danse had noticed sitting by the bookshelf. “I guess all that rain yesterday cleared the air, huh? It’s hot out there.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he told her truthfully, but he did notice the faint breeze that carried into the room as the result of open doorway. It allowed the rest of the marketplace noise in too, the shouting of the vendors, the robotic voice of the noodle seller, the musical produce of that tinny eyebot as it floated past, blaring a song he thought he’d heard Keys singing once. To his surprise and worry, Piper sniggered suddenly.

“Hey, it’s your song,” she said.

“What?” _Just_ as he’d starting to feel more at ease, she made him uncomfortable again. She appeared to sense it, at least, and said:

“Oh, sorry. It’s just this little in-joke Blue and I had. We hunkered down here once while a radstorm blew over and we listened to the radio while we waited. We played this game where we said what certain songs made us think of.”

“And one of them made her think of me?” There was that feeling of warmth again, knowing that she thought about him when he wasn’t around. “What was the song?”

There was that worrisome smirk again, though with a softer edge than he’d seen before.

“You ever heard that song ‘Mighty Mighty Man’? No? C’mon. A real young man, ain’t no hand me down? Young and in my prime?”

“I… think I heard her singing it once. Wait, is _that_ why you called me… that, in the marketplace?”

“Yeah.”

He frowned, considering this.

“Exactly how does this song go?”

“Oh!”

She darted over to a radio in the corner so they could catch the last of it. He didn’t care much for the tune, but he could make out the lyrics. Piper was giggling at his expression, and when the last few notes of the trumpets had faded she turned it off, still clearly enjoying his reaction.

“I’m… honestly not sure what to make of that.”

Her giggle ascended to outright laughter, as brief as it was.

“You’re a strong guy, that’s all. I mean, look at you. I couldn’t possibly read into it any more than that.” The look on her face suggested otherwise but to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ more information. “I don’t know if you’ll find it funny or not but we decided that Valentine’s song was ‘It’s A Man’. ‘If it walks, if it talks, if it’s habits are a little bit peculiar’? Know it?”

“I do not, but that does not sound like a fitting choice.”

“It’s called irony. I mean, asides from the fact he’s a synth the man in the song’s kind of a perv and an idiot and I think even _you’d_ agree that Nick’s too polite for that.”

The fact that Keys had been thinking about Nick as well knocked the warm sensation down a couple of notches, but Piper was right.

“Certainly more polite than you,” he said. Piper snorted.

“Again, tactless but not wrong. Do you fancy lunch?”

The sudden switch in topics left him confused but he nodded. Breakfast hadn’t been much.

“OK,” she said. “I’ll go get Nat. I think we might even have some bread in.”

So they ate, and then Piper sent him out to pick up groceries. He didn’t mind. It made him feel useful, at least a little bit, and right now he needed that. He felt useful. He felt safe. Still better than the bunker. Still no regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other songs discussed during that radstorm game: 60 Minute Man (for Preston, as a joke), Accentuate the Positive (for Preston, not as a joke), Pistol Packin' Mama (for both of them, after arguing about who fit it better), Uranium Fever (for the Children of Atom).
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for the kudos and comments so far! I make a little gasping sound whenever I see the emails in my inbox. Next chapter will see Things Occuring to poor Keys and Preston. See you then!


	4. Stuck

Starlight Drive in was one of the largest but emptiest settlements the Minutemen had a part in. Keys believed it was because there was only one pre-existing structure and it didn’t have much space for beds, so everything else had had to be built from scratch from the ground up. There wasn’t much space for crops either, not with the amount of thick concrete covering what had once been the parking lot, but she could see the razorgrain growing thick and tall where it could as she and Preston sat and ate dinner with the settlers.

“So where are you headed?” said one of the farmers, a woman who looked as though she could crush a man’s head like a grape. Whatever was put in the soup they made up here was clearly good for them, Keys reflected. Even if it was pretty tasteless.

“Anywhere that has the parts needed for turrets and other defences,” said Preston, stirring his soup with a spoon. “There’s a shortage in the area.”

“Oh yeah,” said the farmer’s husband, a man almost as large as she was. “That’s for sure.”

“I might know a place,” said the wife thoughtfully.

“Oh yeah?” said Keys, and the wife nodded.

“Yeah. Jack and I, we came here from the east. Past that darling little place with all the mutfruit and the big bar – Sunshine Tidings? Guess that’s one of yours too.”

“Yeah, Sunshine Tidings is one of ours,” said Keys, smiling. “We’re headed there next.”

“If you keep heading that way straight out past it you’ll find a big old military building of some kind. I don’t know what. Not tall, but I bet it goes down a ways. Had a load of old robots stationed outside, so it’s gotta have the parts you need.”

“That does sound promising,” said Preston. He exchanged a look with Keys, who nodded.

“How far from Sunshine Tidings is this place?”

“Oh, a day at most. Almost a straight line direct from it,” said the husband. “Careful of those robots though.”

“We took down the Institute,” said Keys. “I think we can handle a few robots.”

 

Approximately twenty hours later, they found themselves at the door of the building, a little singed and surrounded by the scattered parts of fallen Mr Gutsies. Something about the place was familiar, and it was only after diving through her post-War memories that she found the answer.

“It reminds me of Greenetech Genetics,” said Keys. “Where I fought a Courser for the first time.”

“I think we’d be in trouble if there was a Courser here now,” said Preston. “Those things are freaky.”

“Tell me about it. Let’s go inside. If we’re lucky we can clear out the top floors before night.”

“I don’t know about you, General, but I’m not feeling very lucky today.”

“Chin up, Garvey.”

Perhaps his time with Mama Murphy had left him with some of the Sight, because while it had started out so well, nothing more than a few turrets and radroaches, the moment they stepped out of the elevator into the basement things started going downhill. If the upstairs was Greenetech, the downstairs was Sentinel Site Prescott.

“That’s a lot of ghouls,” said Preston stoically, looking over the balcony.

“We should do something about that.” She lifted her laser rile – Danse’s old rifle, in fact – and took aim. She took great pleasure in the fact she managed to nail two at once, and then all hell broke loose.

She darted down the stairs as three emerged from a office behind her, firing at them rapidly. She had never been one to panic, even before the War, her training was too good for that, but close quarters combat with a ghoul was _horrible._ They way they gargled and screamed, throwing themselves at her in an attempt to claw the flesh from her bones, was still one of the worst things the new world had to offer.

Once the trio were taken care of she joined Preston in firing at the ones below. The design of the room meant there was a series of metal walkways and stairs running down the main bulk of the huge concrete interior, providing ample vantage points. She got so absorbed in it that when a clawed hand sank into her thigh, ripping the fabric of her Vault suit and dragging down her leg, that she actually cried out, yelping in pain and fear.

“General?!” She heard Garvey shout, but her instincts took over and she put a laser through the ghoul’s head. As the blood oozed from her wound she swore at herself. _Stupid. Always_ put another shot in, _always_ make sure they’re really dead. Danse had always reminded her of that, but in his absence the stinging pain of her leg would have to do.

“No!” she barked, seeing Preston heading towards her. “I’m fine, make sure they’re all dead first!”

She was relying on him to watch her back as she wrestled a Stimpak from her belongings, but as always he lived up to her expectations. Once the sound of tortured screams and the ticking of her geiger counter had died down, he reappeared by her side, adjusting his hat.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“I don’t like to swear,” she said, mostly truthfully, “but it stings like a bitch. Damn ghoul wasn’t dead and it got me in the leg. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.” He nodded, and then looked down at the dozens of shrivelled corpses. “Do you think they’ve been here since…?” he began, but Keys placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I try not to think about it.”

“That’s fair.” He walked alongside her as she cautiously, and with a slight limp, continued her way through the building. “What do you think this place was for?”

“If I had to guess… research up there, and probably storage down here. Guns, combat armour, ammo, maybe even missiles. When I wasn’t in the field I used to work in installations like this, before the War.”

“I thought you said you were a lawyer.”

“Oh, Garvey. After all we’ve been through do you still believe that?”

“If I’m being honest with you I don’t fully understand what the role of a lawyer entails. From your tone, I’d guess ‘not this’?”

“Yeah, not this.”

Proceeding downwards didn’t make the similarities between it and Sentinel Site Prescott any less glaring. She hated to think of that awful pyramid, out in the Glowing Sea. For one thing it had been a terrifying journey and for another it had been the last time she’d seen Paladin Danse as, well, Paladin Danse. It had all seemed so normal at the time. He stayed behind to protect the cargo, stomping around his armour and being condescending, and the next time she saw him his life was crashing down around him and he was on the brink of suicide.

“General?” Preston emerged into her line of sight again.

“Sorry. This place, it just… reminds me of somewhere else I’ve been.”

“You’ve lived a very interesting life, haven’t you?”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she said. The statement hung in the air for a moment, possibly as they both contemplated just how old she really was, before Preston shouldered his gun.

“I think it would be in our interests to test that missile storage theory of yours. I don’t want to think about what the Brotherhood would do if they got their hands on a load of warheads.”

“Something bad. Yeah, let’s go find out. And then we can send some men down from the Castle to gut the place for scrap and parts. That woman in Starlight was right, all of this should keep our people defended for a year. It could even help us build artillery in almost every settlement we have.”

“Now there’s a thought. Let’s keep heading down.”

So they did. It was a big, big place – fortunately _not_ as big as Sentinel Site Prescott but, as always, Keys insisted on investigating every desk drawer, every locker and every storeroom cupboard. Another reason she liked Preston: he had the patience of a saint. She could tell that were the positions reversed and he were in charge he wouldn’t be acting quite so meticulously, preferring to move along and put together the bigger picture of the building first, but he let her rifle around and pick up stuff she might find useful without complaint.

It took them a few hours after first entering the building to reach its lowest level, several storeys below the surface. The air was thin and it was so quiet that it put her on edge, and it took quite a lot to do that.

“I have this feeling,” she said to Garvey in a low voice, “that something horrible is about to happen.”

“Like a sentry bot coming to life?”

“Yeah… something like that.”

“Then we might want to get a move on, General.” He tapped her shoulder and pointed to what she had initially dismissed as a pile of scrap. It was, unmistakably, starting to whir to life. She wasted no time in legging it, cursing that damn ghoul for getting her, Preston quick on her heels as they tore out of the storage room and back out into the corridor.

“Back upstairs?” she heard Garvey shout as she hesitated in the doorway, looking up at the way they’d come down. “They’re not good at those.”

“No, too exposed, it’d shoot us before we reached the top. This way!”

She darted down the corridor as the sentry bot emerged from its room, booming words that she couldn’t make out for the echo and sending bullets ricocheting off the walls. She felt one ping into the back of her chestplate and staggered from the impact, but Garvey grabbed her arm on his way past and dragged her into another room out of the robot’s line of fire.

“ _Shit_ , that’s going to bruise…” she murmured, and then saw Preston’s face.

“Uh oh,” he said, which she knew coming from him was equivalent to a small tirade of curses. “Dead end. We’re going to have to fight out way out.”

She groaned, but she’d had a feeling that it was going to come to that the moment the bot had started moving. She lifted her laser rifle.

“I’ll distract it from the front,” she said. “Try and get behind it to shoot its fusion cores.”

“You got it, General,” he said as he pressed up close against the other side of the doorframe. Then, a split second later, Keys ducked out and opened fire, sending bolts of red light firing off as fast as the weapon would allow. VATS informed her that it made a minimal amount of difference, the majority of the force behind the shots simply bouncing off the bot’s armour. She leapt back into the room again as it fired a missile, making the surface around them shake alarmingly.

“Go!” she hissed at Preston. “It’s about to get in here!”

She fired again, and just as the huge machine appeared in the doorway Preston leapt out and darted behind it, flanking it from the other side. She tried not to panic as it descended upon her. She’d always hated these things, and she’d always hated close quarters combat, so all in all she was currently seething with hatred. She rolled out of the way as it sent another missile flying off, crashing into the wall behind her and sending pieces of concrete flying. A few embedded themselves in the fabric of her Vault suit but she didn’t have _time_ to dwell on that. She was no expert on sentries but it should know better than to use missiles at such close range, so it was clear to her that after centuries of gathering dust it was wigging out. This was not of any comfort to her.

“It’s going to bring the place down on top of us!” she shouted, trying to keep the dread out of her voice. It was blocking the doorway, and while she was alright with being underground in buildings such as this the idea of being _stuck_ in one was pure horror. She was trying desperately hard to avoid going into a full blown panic and that _one_ second of fear, that _one_ second when her head wasn’t in the game, was enough time for the sentry to raise its arm and fire upon her. Bullets bounced off her chestplate and the armour on her legs, but then-

“Aargh!” – one clipped her arm, another into her foot, and she dropped to the floor in pain.

“General!” she heard Garvey shout. “Hold on!”

 A few distinctive blasts from a laser musket later and the sentry bot turned its attention from her, the wounded and unmoving combatant, to the still-active threat that was Preston Garvey. She grabbed at her laser rifle and took the opportunity to fire a few shots at where she thought its fusion cores were, though as before the lasers barely made a difference, rebounding and flying off into the concrete corners of the corridor.

And then, suddenly, the sentry shuddered. She perked up – it was entering cooldown mode, and yes, _there_ , the fusion cores! Exposed and within range. She fired on them without a second thought, damaging one and knocking another one lose entirely.

“Garvey, I got it!” she shouted as it started to shake. And then she remembered what happened to a sentry upon its death.

She didn’t have time to try and stand on her wounded foot, her wounded leg. She didn’t have time to help Preston, she didn’t even have time to crawl out of the blast radius. But just as the machine started to vibrate, counting down to its final explosion, Preston vaulted past it, slung one of her arms around her shoulders and sprinted as fast as he could to the opposite end of the room. He’d been _just_ in time. The entire machine exploded, sending a waft of the smell of gasoline and nuclear fission over them, sending her geiger counter crazy for a few short moments and, more importantly, sending a huge piece of scrap careening into her, smashing into her shot arm and making her cry out. Garvey attempted to cover her from any more debris, earning himself a few pieces in the back, before suddenly turning ashen.

The building was starting to creak and rumble. She could feel the vibrations through the ground she was lying on.

“Shit,” was the only thing she could find within herself to say. Buildings like these weren’t made to withstand explosions from within. And they were right at the bottom, right in the corner, where most of the structural support for the entire installation came from. Right where the explosion was. “Oh God… we’re going to die here.”

“We are not going to die,” said Preston with such conviction that for a split second she believed him. Then a huge chunk of the ceiling fell down at the opposite end of the room, sending a crack running along the rest of it, shooting out to each corner and out into the corridor beyond. More creaking, more rumbling, and then with an _almighty_ crash the corridor, visible through the open doorway, ceased to exist as rubble fell down on top of it, crushing the dead sentry bot. She could hear it, she could _feel_ it, throughout the entire building, crashes and reverberations as pieces of the structure shook and collapsed.

Things didn’t start to fall silent until ten minutes later, when she realised that she had been gripping onto Garvey’s arm so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

“General?” he said, noticing her shallow breaths. When she didn’t respond he tried again. “Keys? Are you alright? Well, I know that’s a dumb question. How hurt are you?”

“F-forget that! This is it! We’re going to be crushed down here! Or run out of food, or water, or probably air first, there can’t be much down here, and then-”

“Keys.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “We’re still alive, and that means we have a chance to get out. But not with your arm and your foot like that. Let me take a look.”

She tried to force her panicked hyperventilating to become more reasonably lengthed lengthed breaths, only barely succeeding as she took in and expelled each shaky intake of air. She hissed as Garvey touched her wounded left arm.

“Sorry,” he said, carefully removing the armour clipped to it. “It’s deep but I think with some stitches and a Stimpak this will be alright,” he told her, before removing her shoe from the wounded foot. “You’re lucky,” he said, “your boot took most of the blow. A Stimpak should be enough to cure it.”

“So do it,” she hissed. The logical part of her told her it was no good to be angry or upset with him, but at the moment every other part of her was either freaking out or in pain. “Look in my pack if you need – supplies, or whatever.”

“I will – hm.”

“What is it now?”

“Your leg,” he pointed to the inner thigh of her right leg, where the ghoul had got her. “How’s that feeling?”

“Not half as bad as the arm.”

“OK. I’m no expert, but I do know that ghoul wounds get infected really easily and yours is looking odd. You should have cleaned it before you used the Stimpak.”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, a ghoul had just tried to kill me,” she snapped. If Preston had a retort he didn’t voice it, keeping his face unreadable before softening it to worry as she screwed her eyes shut, another wave of throbbing hurt rolling across her. Her arm was screaming out in pain. She bit her tongue and looked up at the ceiling, desperately trying not to think about the likelihood of it being the last thing she ever saw.

“Keys?” said Preston, gently.

“We’re trapped,” she said, trying to keep the fear from entering her voice. “We’re trapped, and we’re going to die here.”

“We’re only trapped for now. I’ll have a look and see if I can dig us out once I’ve stitched up your arm, and then we can just walk back up to the surface the way we came in.”

She managed to wrangle herself free from the top half of her jumpsuit, leaving her with a thin vest and very cold shoulders. If Preston found this distracting in any way it certainly didn’t show: he focused intently on cleaning her wound with a bottle of vodka she kept handy for just such an occasion before he stitched it up. It wasn’t neat or pretty and it would be one hell of a scar, but she figured what was one more? She already had one spanning the length of her face from forehead to cheek, and at least in this wasteland no one cared about faultless skin anymore.

Once he was done he made good on his promise to investigate the debris. She almost grabbed him as he moved, too fearful to be left alone even if he was only going a few yards away, but managed to get a grip on herself just in time. He stood up and walked over to the doorway, inspecting the rubble that had spilled in. Keys fell silent as she watched him drag a chunk of concrete out, sending all the smaller pieces rolling down. Preston had always been quite stoic, with a handle on his emotions that she quite admired, but she’d had a lot of practice at reading stoics by this point. She could take a good guess at what was going on in his head, and from the slight crease in his brow, the way he stood and the way he folded an arm across himself, it wasn’t anything good.

“We’re stuck. We are, aren’t we? We’re going to die down here.”

“Come on, Keys. I know you don’t like small spaces, but we’re not giving up yet. There could be something in these boxes to help us.”

“Like _what_?” she spat. She regretted being so harsh almost instantly. “N-no, you’re right. There could be…”

“You stay there,” he said warningly as she tried to move. “Take a Stimpak, and I’ll start investigating. You need to make sure you don’t make anything worse.”

“OK.” She nodded miserably, and tore her gaze away from him to look in her pack.

She rifled around in it until she’d managed to move enough stuff out of the way to reach the aid pocket, but as she reached in and grabbed a Stimpak she caught a flash of orange from the bottom. She laid the syringe down besides her and, very carefully, grabbed at the fabric, pulling it up to the top.

Danse’s jumpsuit. She’d almost forgotten she’d had it. Why had she picked it up? Because he’d left it there, she supposed, with the little note on top written in handwriting that had no right to be so tidy when he’d never been in formal education. She ran her thumb along its sleeve, feeling oddly empty. Where was he right now? Was he alright? Was he safe? Was he happy? Her heart lurched. She knew the answer to the last one, though she wished she didn’t. He hadn’t been happy in weeks.

She should have stayed with him longer. She should have been there for him. She shouldn’t have let him be alone.

She bunched the fabric up in her fists, yanking it out of her pack entirely. She was about to discard it, leave it to one side where she wouldn’t have to look at it or think about him, but a sudden breath in was all it took to stop her dead in her tracks. It still smelled like him. Maybe that was a weird thing to think, but it did. Machine oil, grease and sweat, but something else too, something different that she couldn’t possibly begin to describe when she was in such a state.

She wasn’t just worried about him, she _missed_ him. It made no sense. She hadn’t seen Nick for almost twice as long as she hadn’t seen Danse, and yet when she thought about the detective she pictured him in his office, smoking a cigarette that didn’t do anything for him and bickering with Piper, and she felt fine. It made her smile and look forward to the next time they’d meet. But when she thought about Danse her stomach lurched and she wanted him _here_ , _now,_ with _her_. It _hurt_ that he wasn’t.

“Keys?” Preston’s concerned voice made her jump, and she unsuccessfully attempted to stuff the jumpsuit away before he came back over. He glanced at the orange fabric in her hands. “Still thinking about Danse?”

“…yeah,” she confessed. “I… guess so. It takes my mind off things.”

“It looked like you were upset, so maybe you should think about something else.”

She clutched at the fabric, squeezing it as hard as her wounded arm would allow, _wishing_ that Danse was here, before she finally folded it up and let go, swapping it for the Stimpak she’d been trying to find in the first place.

“Have you found anything?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“Nothing that can help us get out, though I did find some Cram that can keep us going for a while.”

“We’ll run out of air first.”

“We don’t know that for sure. I’ll keep looking.”

“OK… thanks, Preston.”

She glanced down at the jumpsuit as he wandered off again, feeling a sudden burst of anger. She felt even _worse_ now, thanks to it. Even more vulnerable, even more _useless_. She turned away from it. She didn’t want to think about him any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing that is perhaps worth noting: The Keys and Danse chapters don't necessarily take place at the same time, though they're usually not TOO far apart. It'll become pretty obvious in later chapters how they line up, but I thought it was worth mentioning for now!
> 
> Keys is usually a semi-stoic badass, I swear. She just hates being underground. Make sure to be back on Friday, for more Danse Trying Not To Lose His Patience With Piper action.


	5. Three In The Morning

_“I can’t believe she_ ever _trusted you,” said Piper, lip curled up in a sneer. “You are just a machine, after all. You don’t even deserve to live.”_

_“I don’t deserve to live,” he echoed, and then the crash-crash-crashing against the door grew from loud to deafening, and Brotherhood Knights spilled into the room._

_“You were never my Brother,” said one, with the voice of a man he’d once know, a man he’d held as he breathed his last. “You let me die. I should never have expected more from a_ **synth** _.”_

_Elder Maxson appeared at the forefront, laser rifle raised._

_“I should have killed you when I had the chance.” He fired, and –_

Danse hit the floor with such force that the entire building shook. He scrambled for his gun, laid on top of his pack, gripping it in his hands, whirling around when-

“Woah!” said Piper, throwing her hands up. He blinked at her. _Oh. Right. Piper._ She was standing on the staircase in a nightdress, looking rather like a radstag caught in the glare of a flashlight. He groaned, and lowered the rifle. “Are you OK?”

“I apologise if I woke you.”

“That’s not answering the question. What the hell happened? Were you having a nightmare or something?”

“I’m fine.”

“Waving around a gun at 3am in the morning is not ‘fine’.”

“3am?” He’d only slept for two hours. With the way his heart was racing, he doubted he would get any more. Asking himself what Keys would have done was no good because she _wasn’t here_ , Piper was, and he wouldn’t have told her about his issues sleeping if he was under threat of torture. She made a living publishing things people were ashamed of, making them known to the world. He was already regretting letting her know he wasn’t human.

“Yeah, 3am,” said Piper, unamused. “Go back to bed, so then _I_ can go back to bed and I won’t have to worry about you accidentally shooting me or my sister.”

“I would never -” he started, but the _thought_ of it made him stop. God. He could’ve. A few seconds more of disorientation could’ve been all it took. “I… I should’ve just stayed out of the city.” He reached for his pack, putting the rifle back in and picking up his shoes. The next time he looked around Piper was so close to him he almost jumped.

“You are _not_ leaving!” she threatened, half-whispering and half-shouting, waving an accusing finger in his face. “You sit your ass back down!”

“You said yourself, I am a danger to you and your family.”

“Maybe, but I think you’re a hell of a lot more of a danger to yourself. So sit down!”

She looked so furious, and he was so worried that the argument would wake her sister, that he found himself complying, taking steps backwards until his shins hit the couch and he tumbled back onto it. Piper brought him a glass of water before she sat down besides him. He shuffled away, despite the fact he knew how ridiculous it was to feel so threatened by her.

“So? What’s wrong?” she asked, tone calmer now she had more control over the situation. He was extremely insulted by the guise of care she was putting on.

“I know you, Piper Wright. I know what you do. You take people’s secrets and vulnerabilities and you turn them into news. Why should I tell you?”

“Area Man Cast Out From Home, Lacking Purpose, Suffers From Bad Dreams. Yeah, that’d sure be a story,” she snorted. “And no offence, Danse, but if you think I’d take an innocent guy’s pain and try to sell it for profit then you don’t know me at all. I would _never_ do that. Hell, I wouldn’t even do it to a _guilty_ guy.” She sounded so impassioned that Danse could tell she was being truthful, or she certainly thought she was. Then the flame suddenly died and she sighed, going from blazing seeker of the truth to tired young wastelander in a second flat. “I know we’re not friends, and I know you don’t trust me, but I thought you trusted Keys, at least.”

“I _do_.”

“Then you know she wants to help people. And she only hangs out with other people who want that, too. Which is me. And… it’s you. So trust me. I just want to help.”

“But… why?”

“Come on, big guy. I thought I already told you.”

“Remind me,” he grumbled. Piper gave him a sympathetic look.

“Because I know you’re not a bad person, and I know that you’ve just lost a lot of what you thought made you who you are, and I feel sorry for you. And… maybe it’s kind of selfish, but I like feeling like I’ve made a difference to people. It’s why I go out with Blue so much, even though I’m not exactly a powerhouse like you are.”

“If you had said it was for purely selfish reasons I might be more inclined to believe you.”

“Because it’s easier for you to believe that everyone’s out for themselves than it is to believe… what? That someone actually wants to help you?”

He wrestled with the answer for a moment, before admitting:

“Yes!”

“Well, then you’re even dumber than you look. Don’t tell me you’ve done all that travelling with Blue and you’ve not seen _one_ person who wanted to help?”

“They wanted to help _her_.”

“So… why’s it so much of a stretch to think people will want to help you too?”

“Because I am not like her. Keys is… intelligent. She knows how to talk to people to make them feel better. She’s a fine warrior. And a beautiful woman. It’s not _hard_ to see why people like her.”

“You think she’s beautiful?” Piper’s eyebrows shot up, and then she slapped herself. “Not the time, Piper. Look, I’m not gonna say Blue’s _not_ all those things, ‘cause she totally is, but you’ve gone back to assuming everyone’s kind of an asshole that only wants to help because she has great hair, rather than because she was someone who needed help.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t want to say that she was right, but he didn’t want to say that she was wrong either. He was experiencing that empty ache again, talking about Keys, and it made him feel even less open to conversation than usual.

After a few moments of silence, Piper suddenly smiled a little smile.

“I just remembered something she liked to say. Did you ever hear it? This belief she had that we’re all just little copies of other people we’ve met, all mixed together into ‘us’.”

“Yes. I think I once heard her say something along those lines.”

“Yeah. It means that what we are, what we believe… it all comes from the people we spend the most time with. And you spent the most time with people who, I’m guessing, told you you couldn’t trust anyone who wasn’t like them. So duh, of _course_ you think everyone is out to get you! But you’ve spent time around people like Keys too. So there’s a part of you which… which _is_ her. Which thinks the same way she does.” She made a gesture with her hands. “I think she explains this better, especially when it’s not three in the morning.” Then she sighed. “What I’m _trying_ to say is that… there are people out there who want to help you, OK? So _let them_.”

“I… believe I have grasped the message you were trying to convey.”

“So are you gonna go back to sleep so we can talk more in the morning?”

“Alright.”

“OK.” She smiled and stood up. “Oh, and, no offense…”

She picked up his rifle from his pack, and moved it to the other side of the room.

“Just in case?” she said. He nodded. “OK. Well, goodnight. Again. See you in the morning, the _real_ morning.”

“Yes… thank you.”

Once she had disappeared upstairs he lay back down on the couch. There was still no chance in hell he was going to fall asleep again, he knew he couldn’t face the mortification of waking Piper in his panic _twice_ , but he didn’t feel… jittery anymore. He could feel his heart, if that truly _was_ what it was and not just some metal box with the same function, beating steadily in his chest, not wildly and erratically like it usually did in this situation. He had to admit that Piper wasn’t half bad when it came to words.

He stared at the corrugated iron ceiling, wondering how many times Keys had laid here and done the same. He’d never really known what she did with her time when she wasn’t with him. What was she doing now? What was she looking up at? Was she even sleeping at all? She’d always seemed so unreasonably fond of the night time that sometimes she didn’t want to.

_“It’s the stars,” she said, when he’d asked one evening. She pointed up at them. He frowned._

_“What about them?” They looked perfectly normal to him. All looking at them made him think of was the time a scribe had tried to teach him how to navigate by them._

_“Before the War, there was so much light pollution that most of them were blotted out. In Boston you’d be lucky to see anything other than the moon and a couple of planets. But now… it’s breath-taking. I guess you’re used to it, but to me it’s still new.”_

_He looked back up again. He found that hard to imagine. No stars at all?_

_“Do you… miss it? Before the War, I mean.” It had been a question he’d wanted to ask for months now, ever since he’d found out her origin. He’d never asked it before, fearing it would sound unprofessional, but lately he’d been getting the impression that they had a relationship_ **outside** _of the professional. From the way she reacted, he knew that he’d been right._

_“I don’t know,” she said, sighing. “I miss hot showers and cold beer but in a way… I feel like I was meant for this. More than I was for my old life. And like I said… at least I have the stars now. And my friends. People like you.” She smiled at him, and all the responses he’d had lining up in his head were knocked away._

In hindsight that was probably one of the first times he’d looked at her as anything other than a friend or soldier. He groaned softly, rolling over on the couch as though he could turn away from the thought of her. He couldn’t go on like this, he knew. _This_ was why he’d run from her. He couldn’t live with this gut-wrenching feeling that he got whenever he thought of her. Maybe if he avoided her long enough he’d get over it. It wasn’t as if there was a chance in hell of her _ever_ feeling the same way. She’d been married to a real human man with real human emotions who took care of her, all things he knew he wasn’t or couldn’t be.

_Damn_ , he wished he’d been right when he’d said synths didn’t feel.

 

Despite everything, despite the nightmare and the feeling of vulnerability, he was actually drifting off by the time sunlight began to seep in through the cracks around the door. He was in a half-asleep, half-awake state when the sound of feet thundering down the stairs made him snap into alertness with a snort.

“Aw, and here I was hoping you’d make breakfast for us to repay our generosity,” said Piper, smirking down at him as Nat breezed past on her way to the humble kitchen. Danse rubbed at his eyes. He felt internally dead, and even a little externally dead too for once, just to spice things up. “Jeez, you look bad. OK, I take back my snark, now I just feel cruel. Nat, did we eat all the razorgrain bread yesterday?”

“Nah, there’s some left,” said the girl matter-of-factly. “What were you talking about last night?”

“Did we wake you up? Sorry, kiddo. Danse wasn’t feeling too well, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t hurl on anything.”

Nat’s response to this was to raise an eyebrow, looking for all the world like her older sister, and glance at Danse before turning back again.

“Why are all your friends so _weird,_ Piper.”

At this point he wasn’t sure whether to protest against the child’s observation or to agree with it. He was spared from making a decision by a chunk of dry bread being lobbed at him, and he was satisfied to find that his reflexes were sharp enough to catch it, sleep deprivation and lack of practice be damned.

“Nice,” said Piper. “Hey Nat, why don’t you go see if any of your friends are up before I put you to work? Go hang out, catch up.”

“You mean it?” The girl gaped, and when Piper nodded she grinned. “Thanks Piper!”

“Don’t hang around too long, you got it?” Piper called as Nat vanished out of the door, clutching her bread in one hand. There was no indication as to whether the warning had been received, only the door slamming shut behind her. Once she was gone, Piper fixed her gaze on Danse.

“Did you actually get any sleep after that whole fiasco?” she asked him.

“Not really.”

“That’s not good. You’ll burn yourself out, take it from someone who’s pulled one too many all-nighters.”

“I don’t see what business of yours it is.”

Piper just groaned, rolling her eyes.

“Clearly you weren’t listening to _anything_ I said yesterday. Or this morning, I guess. At 3am? When I got all the way out of bed to try and make you feel better, because I knew it was what Keys would have done?”

“Yes, but, well…” He fidgeted for a moment, and then gave up. “Alright, point taken.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do today with your two hours of sleep?” she asked, mercifully changing the subject. He’d spent almost all of his time staring at the ceiling thinking about the answer to that in an attempt to stop thinking about Keys. He hadn’t been too successful, but he had at least _some_ ideas.

“I believe I may be capable of fulfilling one of the bounties I acquired yesterday, before you… accosted me.”

“And you really think you’re fit to go outside with a crappy hunting rifle and two hours of sleep and take out a whole raider camp on your own?”

“Yes.”

“ _Without_ that power armour you always used to wear?”

Oh, right. He knew he’d been forgetting something when doing his calculations.

“Again, point taken,” he admitted. “Do you have any better ideas?”

“I can’t tell if that was sarcastic or not.”

“Truthfully, neither can I.”

“Well…” She trailed off to think, and then started as there was a sharp knock on the door. Danse was halfway across the room reaching for his weapon when Piper said:

“Hey! Relax! It’s Nick.”

“How can you tell?” he asked, frowning, but she’d opened the door before he could stop her.

“Hello Piper – ah, there you are.” Nick looked _very_ amused to see Danse over Piper’s shoulder. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“Why?” said Piper, stepping back to allow him inside.

“I ran into your sister just now and she mentioned something to the effect of there being a tall, dark and handsome stranger in your house. I thought that didn’t sound like your type…”

Piper snorted.

“God no. No offence, Danse. You’d need to go up a few cup sizes before I even thought about it.”

“What?” He blinked at her, alarmed.

“Forget about it. So, anyway, what can I do for you, Nick?” she looked back at Valentine, who said:

“Are you still working on that article about the ghouls McDonough displaced?”

“I’m hung up on a bit of writer’s block with that one, but yeah?” She looked intrigued.

“I’ve been asked to head up to the Slog by a Minuteman whose pal went missing. Thought you might want to accompany me.”

“Ooh, definitely. I’ve been going crazy cooped up in this city.”

“You could come too, if you wanted,” said Nick, and it took Danse a second to realise that the detective was addressing _him._ Apparently his surprise was obvious, because Nick went on to explain. “Piper and I are good shots but we’re not exactly experts when it comes to combat. Accompany us there, and I’ll give you a few caps for your troubles since I get the feeling you need ‘em. How about it?”

“I think he’d rather go charging headlong at raiders than voluntarily spend time with us troublemakers,” said Piper with a laugh, as he contemplated the offer. He still didn’t like Valentine, not in the slightest, and Piper was annoying… but she had been kind to him, when she really didn’t have to. She’d called him out on his stubbornness the previous night but she’d done it in such a way that he hadn’t felt angry or threatened, and he had to admire her for that. He didn’t like the idea of her getting hurt.

“Alright,” he agreed.

“Seriously?” Piper looked like her eyes were about to pop out of their sockets. “I thought you hated us.”

“Hate is a strong word. And Valentine is right. I do need the caps.”

“You know the Slog is full of ghouls, right?” she said cautiously.

“Feral?”

“No, just normal tarberry farmers.”

“Then provided none of them act in a threatening manner we should be fine.” He knew, with a faint twinge of guilt, that if he’d been asked the question a year ago his answer would have been a lot more suspicious. But he’d never met a regular ghoul who had then gone feral, or ever heard of it other than rumours in the Brotherhood, so in a way that made them better than synths from the get-go.

“Oh. Well then. Alright!” said Piper brightly. “Once my sister gets back we can head out. I’d tell you to pack your things, Danse, but it looks like you already have.”

“I do not have many possessions.”

“Guess I’ll head back and make sure I’m all stocked up on bullets,” said Nick. “See you two in, say, half an hour?”

“You got it.” She gave him a bright smile before shutting the door, and then frowned at Danse. “You’re a really confusing guy, you know?”

“ _I’m_ confusing?” He almost snorted at the hypocrisy of it. She was so _infuriating_.

“Yeah, you are,” she insisted. “First you hate us and then you want to talk to us and then you’re _growling_ at us and now you want to voluntarily spend time with us? Jeez, big guy! Calm down! Or make up your mind, at least.”

“I…” He wasn’t sure how to explain it. “I don’t like you, Piper. I think you are very irksome, and it troubles me that the sy– that Valentine is so easily and readily accepted regardless of the threat he poses. Despite this… you have both been kind to me. I would not want any trouble to befall you.”

“I’m not sure if I should be saying thanks or not.”

“And…” He stopped himself. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be revealing his other motives just yet, but Piper gave him a Look as she lit a cigarette.

“And?”

“And I… when you reminded me of that belief Keys has I…” Damn. He had no idea how to phrase this, and he was sure Piper was going to tease him but she looked genuinely interested and seemed to be willing to be patient because of it. He tried again. “If she’s right. If all we are is the people we know. And if I was made up of the people _I_ knew, the Brotherhood, who ordered my death for something that wasn’t my fault… then a part of me is gone. Most of me, even. Almost everything I was.”

“Danse,” she said, with surprising care. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t. _If_ she’s right, then it simply means… I must cure the wound with new people. It’s simply easiest to begin with those I already have something in common with, namely, my relationship with Keys.”

 He watched her very closely in an attempt to gauge her reaction. He’d never been good at it even with very open people, and right now Piper’s face was a closed book. She took a drag from her cigarette and said, very deliberately:

“So why all the flip-flopping then?”

“If… if I seem conflicted, it’s because I am. I’m still… trying to process what’s happened. Going from a Paladin of the Brotherhood to, well, nothing. It’s not easy.”

“You’re not nothing. You’re something. Couldn’t say what, but definitely something.”

It was hard to put into words how much anxiety he was currently experiencing. Keys made it look so _easy_ to trust people. She looked as though she were happy with it. He’d just trusted Piper and all he felt like doing was disappearing into a small dark hole somewhere where no one could reach him. The fact that she was now just looking at him as she took in her cigarette was making it ten times worse, at least until she sighed and said:

“Relax, big guy. You look like you’re about to keel over. And we’ve got to pack, remember? Nick’s gonna be back soon, and so’s my sister.”

“Right.” He picked up the gun from the table where Piper had placed it earlier, and then his pack from the floor. “I am now ready to leave.”

“You don’t have a lot of stuff, do you?”

“I have what is necessary.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” She gave him a sceptical look, before putting out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Guess I’d better get ready for a slog to the Slog.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing really happened in this chapter but it was still one of my favourites to write. Maybe it was more interesting to read than I imagined, you tell me. Either way, thanks for reading - see you Monday!


	6. S.O.S

Keys dozed fitfully for an hour, jolting awake when she had a sudden vision of the walls closing in on them. Preston gave her a look as he carefully unpacked the contents of another steel container, but clearly judged that she was alright. Keys told herself that his assumption was correct. She was fine. Filled with terror whenever she opened her eyes and saw the grey concrete encasing her, experiencing the beginning of a pounding headache a sensation of general nausea, but alright.

She tentatively moved her arm. The pain had started to ease, though as she twitched her foot she received another searing jolt of agony that sent her scrambling for another Stimpak. She caught a glance of the claw marks on her thigh as she reached across for her pack. It wasn’t looking pretty, swollen and red and when she tentatively moved the fabric she could see more red lines, running away from the wound and towards the rest of her body. She vaguely recalled Preston’s warning about infection, but she was no medic. Is this what an infected wound looked like? She had no idea.

In the end she settled for injecting the Stimpak into her wounded arm before, in an attempt to distract herself, turning to the radio dial on her Pip-Boy. She twiddled with it until the voice of Travis Miles drifted out, talking about the latest events of the Commonwealth. She was cheered, just a little, to hear him praising the efforts of the Minutemen.

“I’m surprised we can even get that down here,” said Preston from the other end of the room.

“The signal’s not great.” This was true. There was a lot of static and it came in and out, but if she wasn’t going to think about Danse and if she wasn’t going to think about her situation then she might as well think about music no matter how low quality. Her lip twitched in as close to a smile as it was going to get down here as the cheery trumpets of Keep A-Knockin’ blared tinnily from the Pip-Boy. She liked this one.

Preston gave her another look as she sang along softly, but didn’t say anything else. She’d always liked singing. She’d never thought she was particularly good at it until she’d ended up in the post-apocalypse where people didn’t have time for such things anymore. There had been multiple instances where she’d been told by friends and followers that they liked her voice, singing along to the radio, cheering up the wasteland even if it was just a little. It served to make her feel more normal. Here was _one_ thing she could always do, no matter where she was and no matter _when_ she was.

“Sorry to interrupt you, General,” said Garvey, as she and the DCR were halfway through Pistol Packin’ Mama, “but I think I’ve found something.”

She switched off the radio and craned her neck, trying to see him. Hope hiked up in her throat when she saw him, and what he was holding.

“A ham radio?”

“If we can get Diamond City Radio down here we can probably send out a message.”

“An SOS… god, Garvey. I could kiss you.”

“Not necessary,” he said, with a slight smirk, “but appreciated. The only problem is, we don’t have a power source.”

“Oh…”

“I was hoping you might have some ideas. You’re better with tech than I am. Than most people, actually.”

“Have you found any big batteries in here?”

“Not yet, though I can keep looking.”

“If you bring some boxes over to me I can look too. I hate just… sitting here, feeling sick.”

“You’re not feeling well?”

“Of course I’m ‘not feeling well’! I _hate_ everything about this, _everything_!” she snapped, again. “I hate that I’m wounded! I hate that we’re stuck here, running out of air. I hate feeling useless. I hate that I keep yelling at you!”

“I’m not going to lie, I could do with less of the yelling,” said Garvey, “but I understand. I know that out of the two of us I’m getting off lightly here. I’d trade places if I could.”

She took a deep, shaky breath in. She pressed a palm to her head. Now it was _really_ starting to hurt.

“I’m sorry. Really, Preston, I am. I’m just so tired. Too much has happened.”

“I’m tired too,” he confessed. “But I’m not going to rest until we’ve sent out that message. If we’re really lucky we might even be able to reach all the way to the Castle and the operator there.”

“OK,” she nodded, sniffing and internally telling herself to get a grip. “But we still need power.”

“I’ll look for batteries.”

She fiddled with the dead radio while Preston continued ransacking the room, mostly because it was yet another distraction. It was in perfect condition so she had no doubt that it would work, once a power supply was found, each and every knob and dial acting exactly as it should. It reminded her of something. Another time.

_“Hey doll, I brought you something!” said Nate, swaggering inside with a box under his arm. She looked up from her book and tried to make herself smile, something she hadn’t felt like doing much since she’d found out she was pregnant._

_“What is it?” she asked._

_“Why don’t you see for yourself.” He placed the box down on the coffee table with a heavy thunk. Keys looked up at him, but while his face was as open and as honest as always it didn’t betray what was within the container, other than that he was hoping very hard she would like it._

_She made a show of picking the box up (she barely could, it was heavy) and trying to figure out what was within just from listening to it, before finally opening it up._

_A radio. Shiny and new._

_“I know you’ve been… down lately,” said Nate. “And I know you disapproved when we got that TV for me. But this is for you. For your songs.”_

_“…thanks, Nate.” It was weak, but the smile was genuine. Nate was delighted._

_“Hey, Codsworth!” he called into the house. “Come help me set up this radio for my girl!”_

“What’s the matter?” said Preston. She blinked, and found that tears had been welling in her eyes on the verge of escaping. God, she was _so tired._ She rubbed at her face with her good arm.

“Nothing, I was just… my husband got me a radio once. Not a ham radio, but I was thinking about it anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I… I never really loved him.”

“What?”

She wasn’t too surprised to see the look of shock on his face. She’d never really told anyone before, asides from _maybe_ Piper when in a drunken haze and _maybe_ Danse when in a fever state not entirely unlike what she was currently approaching. She wasn’t sure why she was telling Preston now, either. It probably had something to do with the complete and total emotional exhaustion she was experiencing. The last time she’d felt so raw, so vulnerable, was when she had tumbled out of Vault 111 to find everything she’d ever known had been ripped away from her.

“It’s true,” she mumbled, guilty at the thought despite the centuries that had passed. “I didn’t love him. I only married him because I was pregnant.”

“Did you even like him?”

“Oh, I liked him.” Her lip twitched at the memory of his face, smiling at her as he saw her from across a room filled to the brim with soldiers and agents. “Shaun wouldn’t have happened otherwise. He was handsome and funny and charismatic. He was my best friend. One of my only, after I was… employed. He was a good man, Garvey. A really good man. You would have got on so well.”

Preston didn’t say anything and for a moment she worried if it was because she’d said something wrong, because he was judging her for marrying someone she didn’t love in the typical manner, but instead he came and sat next to her. A respectful distance away, allowing her to maintain her personal space, but close enough that it conveyed the fact that he was there for her, if she needed it. Currently, she felt she did. He allowed her to rest her head against his shoulder, which in turn allowed her to fall to pieces for a few minutes.

Once she had finished crying her eyes out she felt, all in all, a lot better. Still headachey and nauseous, with a throbbing pain from her thigh, but better emotionally if nothing else.

“I think I needed to get that out of my system,” she confessed, once she was calmer again. “OK. I can be useful now. Sorry about that.”

“I think you earnt the right to be useless for a little while,” said Preston, rubbing her back. Keys wasn’t sure, but decided to turn the topic towards their escape.

“Have you found anything?”

“I didn’t want to tell you when you were upset, but I’ve not found anything useful at all. There’s a few wires in one of the crates that we could’ve used, but no batteries to connect them to.”

“Can you bring the wires over? Now my head is cleared I’ve got an idea.”

He did as she asked and brought the bundles of wires over, neatly wrapped up and perfectly preserved. She weakly clawed at the fastenings of her Pip-Boy, removing it from her arm and delivering it to her lap. Then she reached into her pack and pulled out a screwdriver, using it to unscrew the back panel of the Pip-Boy to expose the jumble of wire and battery in the back. She inspected it, before nodding to herself. Yes, this would do.

“You’re not going to use your Pip-Boy to power the radio, are you?” said Preston incredulously. “Is that even possible?”

“It might blow out the battery for good, but I think if we don’t take too long we can get an SOS message out there.”

“Alright, give it a shot.”

Once Preston had pried off the back of the radio for her and she’d taken another Stimpak to dull the pain, she got to work hooking them up. It was tricky when she had limited movement in her left arm but she had thin, dexterous fingers perfect for such a task, wiring and re-wiring until with a cautious push of a button the ham radio crackled to life, blaring static in its untuned state. Preston almost grinned, releasing the breath he had been holding in out of anticipation.

“Nice work,” he told her.

“You’d better make that call quickly,” she said warningly, so she shuffled away from the mic and allowed Preston to sit in front of it. He fiddled with the dials, tuning it to the Minutemen frequency as fast as he could.

“Hello? Radio Freedom? Come in, Radio Freedom,” he said to the mic. A few moments of static, and then:

“Garvey? Is that you?”

Despite herself, Keys smiled. Ronnie Shaw. God, she loved Ronnie Shaw.

“Hey Shaw, it’s me," said Preston. "Listen, we don’t have much time -”

“Your signal’s shit, you’re gonna have to say that again.”

Keys could see irritation cross his features, but he persevered regardless.

“The General and I are trapped at the bottom of a pre-War military research facility east of Sunshine Tidings Co-Op. Did you get that?”

“What? You’re trapped? Something about research?”

“A pre-War military building, east of Sunshine Tidings,” he repeated, more forcefully. “We’re stuck here. We don’t know how much air we have.”

“You and the General are stuck in a pre-War military building, east of Sunshine Tidings. Is that it?”

“Yes!”

“Alright. We’re on our way.”

“Thanks Shaw.”

He breathed out heavily as the line went dead, and then gave Keys an alarmed look as she scrambled to unplug it. There was a sound like _fzzt_ , a small shower of sparks and the smell of melted rubber. Keys groaned.

“Rest in peace, noble Pip-Boy,” she said sadly.

“Did we kill it?”

“Yeah. I’ll have to go to Vault 81 to get it fixed when we get out. If we get out.”

“We will,” said Garvey with great strength. “Have faith in your own people, General. The Minutemen are coming. We just need to hold out until then.”

“Yeah,” she repeated, albeit shakily. “Just need to hold out until then. In this small, windowless, concrete room, miles underground.”

He sat back down next to her. She put her head back on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the shortest chapter in the whole fic and it's STILL more than 2k. I'm really not used to writing in chapters - sorry!
> 
> Thank you for all the comments! I promise I read and treasure them all even if I can't always think of a good way to respond. See you on Friday!


	7. Fresh Wounds

The Slog was a full two day’s travel away, according to Piper’s map. Danse had to admit it was a good map, much better than his own despite the Nuka Cola stain on one corner and the coffee cup ring on another. It was also covered in little pencil annotations, but it was these annotations that intrigued him. They said things like ‘Mal lives here’, ‘fuck Mirelurks’ and ‘here be Yao Guai’, all in what he assumed was Piper’s handwriting. He had been studying it as they travelled out of the city gates, trailing behind Piper and Nick as they chatted ahead of him.

He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or upset that he was excluded from the conversation. On one hand it felt like a rejection, but on the other he doubted he would have been able to think of anything to say anyway. The lack of sleep was starting to catch up to him. His eyelids were heavy and his muscles ached, but he forced himself upwards, back straight and rifle in hand at all times.

He ocassionally listened in to their conversation with one ear but it was never anything particularly interesting _or_ something he stood a chance at engaging with. It was chatter about Diamond City, it was remember-that-time-when’s and did-you-hear’s that had no meaning to him. He didn’t know who Danny Sullivan was, he wasn’t there when that wanderer did the weird thing at the Dugout Inn and he had no way of knowing if that rumour about Doctor Sun was true. So generally, he focused on their surroundings, listening for the sound of approaching threats.

At least until he heard:

“-Keys?”

He looked back down from the horizon and to Piper. Whatever she’d said, Valentine was nodding.

“I heard that one. Pretty sure it’s true, too.”

“What are you discussing?” said Danse, and they both suddenly looked at him. Piper… he wasn’t sure if that was a smile or a smirk, but she had _one_ of those on her face.

“What people say about ‘the Vault Dweller from 111’ in Diamond City,” she explained.

“What do they say about her?”

“A lot of things,” said Nick. “She, Piper and I are all members of the Most Gossiped About Club of Diamond City. Hard to say who gets talked about the most. Probably me.”

“You _are_ a synth,” said Danse, before realising how that sounded. “So it would make sense that many would speculate about you. I personally think gossip and rumour-spreading are infractions upon a person’s privacy.”

“Don’t tell me you never joined in,” said Piper. “I bet there must have been all sorts going on when you were in the Brotherhood. No? Not even when you were a young, fresh-faced Initiate?”

“I never liked to indulge,” said Danse. He supposed it was a good sign he could now think about the Brotherhood and merely feel horrifically lost, alone and homesick rather than borderline suicidal. “It always felt cruel no matter the recipient.”

“That’s rather honourable of you,” said Valentine. “Shame the rest of Diamond City thinks differently.”

“Anyway, I think I get talked about more than you do, Nick,” said Piper. “You’re old news. Me? I make new things for people to talk about every time I publish an article.”

“What do they say?” asked Danse, genuinely curious.

“Oh, all sorts.” She flapped a hand, as if trying to bat away the question but answering it nonetheless. “Most of it related to my sexual habits and moral fibre or lack of them, depending on who you ask. I’ve been called more names than you could possibly think up, big guy.”

“That does not seem like an efficient way to discredit you, if that was their goal.”

“I think their goal was just to hurt my feelings. Worked too, for a while. But I don’t care now. They can say whatever the hell they want, it’s not gonna stop me,” she said proudly.

“That is an admirable stance to take, Piper,” he told her. He had, on occasion, caught people whispering about him behind his back aboard the Prydwen and no matter what it was they said it always stung, mostly because of the lack of respect it demonstrated. He respected Piper’s blasé attitude. She didn’t care about esteem or pride. She only cared about the truth. And that, he knew, was probably one of the reasons Keys liked her. “If they say such rude things about you, then what is it they say about Keys?”

“She gets more interesting stuff than we do,” said Nick. “Mostly because she leads a more interesting life.”

“You know,” said Piper, before putting on a strange voice. “‘Oh did you hear, that Vault Dweller killed a sea monster with her bare hands? Did you hear she took out a whole camp of raiders? Did you hear she took down a Behemoth with a single shot’?”

“And those are some of the less interesting excerpts,” said Nick, sounding amused. Danse considered this.

“While a strong tactician and an excellent shot, Keys lacks physical strength, so I doubt the first is true.”

“I think _I’m_ stronger than she is,” said Piper. “But that wasn’t the point. You’re saying you believe the rest?”

“Don’t you?”

“Hm, not sure about the Behemoth one,” said Nick. “Maybe if she was the type of gal to use a missile launcher, but like you said, she’s a skinny little thing. I doubt she could lift one.”

“She always prioritised food when it came to her carrying capacity,” Danse commented, remembering how easy it always was for her to cook up a good meal in the evenings. She always had more than enough, and she could always make it taste good even if it was essentially nothing more than a squashed bug.

“Out of all the pre-War habits she never wanted to let go of good food, huh?” said Piper. She was smiling, probably at the memory of Keys. It made Danse smile too, even if just for a second. He still missed her, but talking about her, talking about what he enjoyed and admired about her with people who enjoyed and admired her too… it helped.

“And the hair,” said Nick. “Don’t forget that.”

“How could I forget! When we first met it used to confuse the hell out of me how much she cared about looking after her hair. I bet it drove you crazy, huh Mr Efficient Time Keeping?” She looked up at Danse, who had to reflect on this. He thought back to earlier in their relationship, after he’d known her long enough to consider her a friend but not a _close_ friend.

“At first,” he told her. “But later I…” _admired it._

 

_“Knight?” he called, wandering through the empty offices they had spent the night in. She had disappeared off shortly after breakfast to, in her words, ‘prepare for the day’ and he hadn’t seen her since. He scowled. If she was wasting time on her vanity again he’d –_

_“What? I’m in here,” he heard her call back. “I’m nearly finished.”_

_Following the sound of her voice led him to what had once been a bathroom. She stood in front of a miraculously uncracked mirror, grubby white vest exposed with her jumpsuit tied around her waist. She was combing her hair, but before he could say anything about it she turned to look up at him._

_He had always been aware that she was an attractive woman, but it was in the same way that he knew a sunset was beautiful, or the view from a hill on a clear day. It was just something that objectively_ **was**. _He’d never considered her as attractive meaning he was attract_ **ed**. _But – maybe it was the light, maybe it was her slender shoulders, maybe it was the exact way she looked at him with those eyes of hers, he was considering her now._

_Her hair, while he had never understood the motives behind her fussing, was admittedly gorgeous. It curved and waved and hung below her jawline, neat and clean and tidy. The way it fell over her face drew attention to her eyes – big and dark, slanted in a way that hinted at her mixed heritage as much as her dark skin did. She was perfect, unblemished as only a pre-War woman could be, but for the scar across her left eye. It was hardly as if something as insignificant as that could detract from her overall beauty, however. She had too much of it._

_She suddenly smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners._

_“No comments about wasting time today, Paladin?” she said._

_“No. I, er… you may continue,” he said, relieved he’d been able to speak at all. “Provided you avoid taking much longer.”_

_“Like I said, I’m almost done. I’ll meet you outside, OK?”_

_“Alright.”_

_He hurried away feeling quite pink in the face, not to mention extremely foolish. What had that been about? Why had he cared about her physical appearance at all? Such thoughts were wildly inappropriate regardless of their nature. It had no effect on her ability to act as a Knight, and so it shouldn’t matter to him. But it did. Just a little._

“Later, I saw it as less of a waste of time,” he answered conclusively. “I could tell it comforted her.”

“Yeah. I guess we all have little quirks like that,” said Piper. “Things to make us feel better, even if they don’t really help in any meaningful way. I rearrange all the stuff on the shelves or go over old articles, Nick, you smoke… I dunno about you, big guy. What do you do?”

“To what?”

“Comfort yourself. The little things.”

He thought about this, but it didn’t take long. He’d been doing almost nothing _but_ little meaningless things in an attempt to make himself feel better while at Listening Post Bravo.

“I suppose I clean my weapons,” he said, “but that serves a practical purpose.”

“Keys said you name them too. Is that true?” The teasing tone had returned to the reporter’s voice, and Danse found that much less worrisome than total sincerity like she had been a moment ago. He relaxed slightly.

“Generally, yes.”

“What’s that one called?” said Nick, indicating to the rifle Danse was currently cradling.

“Last Resort.” It had been an easy one to name.

“Huh, I thought it’d be something dorky but that’s actually pretty cool,” said Piper. “I mean, naming your weapons is still a really dorky thing to do but it’s not as bad as it could’ve been. Maybe I should name mine.”

“It’s not essential. It’s just… a habit I picked up.” From Cutler. Cutler had always preferred silly names over cool ones, a tendency that had got him in trouble in the Brotherhood. It still hurt to think about him, but Danse smiled anyway, just the slightest twitch of his lip. Cutler and Piper would have got along like a house on fire.

“Frankly I think you’re both a little odd,” said Nick. “All I’ve ever called my gun is a Tactical Snub-Nosed .44 Pistol.”

“That’s because you don’t have a poetic heart like the Big Guy or I.” Piper grinned, and Danse suddenly noted the way she’d said his current epithet. He had a horrible feeling that what she’d previously been using as a physical description had just become a nickname.

“Maybe not,” said the detective, “but I – argh!”

He didn’t get to finish as a bullet ripped through him, sending him reeling backwards. Danse snapped his gaze up to where the shot had come from.

“Mutants! Get down!”

He didn’t have to tell either of them twice. They both followed him as he vaulted behind a nearby boulder while the creatures charged towards them, and before he went to shoot back he glanced at Valentine.

“Are you hit?”

“Got me in the shoulder,” he said through clenched teeth, before raising his pistol. “I can still shoot the bastards, though.”

“Where did they _come_ from?” said Piper. Danse opted not to answer as a bullet ricocheted off the rock in front of them, and he leapt up to return fire. One shot struck the closest mutant in the arm, the next in the shoulder, the third and final between the eyes. He heard another of them yelling and forced memories of Cutler from his mind, taking a deep breath in and out.

“We have to move,” he told the other two. He flinched as the obnoxious blaring of a mini-gun battered at their cover. “ _Now_.”

There was a cluster of dead trees that should provide cover enough and they ran towards it, but not before Piper raised her shotgun – where had she gotten that? She’d only had a 10mm before – and blasted it at the one with a mini-gun, catching him in the lower arm.

Danse lost track of them after that. The sound of gunfire and mutant screaming was almost deafening, filling his brain, cutting out all other thoughts apart from _kill – survive._ The adrenalin was overwhelming. Normally he had some greater purpose to rally behind, a cry of ‘Ad Victoriam!’ or ‘For the Brotherhood!’ to keep his nerves settled and his mind clear. He had no such purpose now. He saw a discarded nail-bat, he saw a Mutant bearing down upon Piper, and he simply just _yelled_.

The metaphorical red mist didn’t lift until the last mutant had fallen to its knees with a disgusting gargle, and Danse suddenly became aware of the bloodstained bat he was wielding in one hand. He dropped it as the adrenalin ebbed and he began to regain feeling. He was wounded, not badly, but enough that it was obvious. The mini-gun’s bullets had skimmed his calf and he had a vague recollection of a mutant bringing an enormous wooden board down upon his left shoulder, which would explain why _that_ hurt so much, but he felt relatively OK apart from that. _He_ did. But the others?

“Key– Piper?” He turned around, scanning for them amongst the carnage. “Valentine?”

“Over here!” he heard Valentine call from behind a burnt-out car. Further investigation revealed him kneeling by Piper, who was currently medicating herself with a Stimpak. From the rapidly developing bruise it looked as though she’d encountered a board-wielding mutant too, only it had hit her across the face rather than the shoulder. She squinted up at Danse as he approached.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” she said. “So much for controlled tactician!”

“That does not usually happen,” he told her, truthfully. He rarely lost his temper when in battle – with people, yes, especially people like Piper – but not often in battle. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had. “I have not been in a large scale fight since I… I was in the Brotherhood.”

“Hey, no need to look embarrassed about it. That was crazy, in a cool way.”

“Certainly saved us some bullets if nothing else,” said Valentine, before reaching into his coat pocket and producing a Stimpak. “Here, take this.”

“…thank you. I only wish I had noticed them before they saw us.”

“They were unusually quiet for mutants, so I won’t hold it against you.”

“They must’ve been pretty new here,” said Piper as she got to her feet. “I mean, look at this place. It’s only _slightly_ covered in blood and guts.”

“That would explain why they were so quick to attack,” said Danse, remembering what he had seen and observed in the field before. “They weren’t yet fully operational and wanted to deal with a potential threat before it escalated.”

“Not sure that worked out for them,” said Valentine. “Nice to know we got here before they could do too much damage to the area. Bet the folks at Greygarden will appreciate that.”

“Greygarden…” Danse recognised the name. “The one run by robots?”

“The very same.”

“There’s a few people there too,” said Piper. “And Keys built a boiler there! Which means _hot water_!”

“Think I’ll pass,” said Valentine. “But we can stop there for a while if you two want to make use of it. It’s coming up on lunchtime anyway.”

“What do you say, Big Guy?” Piper looked up at him. The very idea of a hot shower to wash away the mutant blood he was now partially covered in was heavenly. He hadn’t had access to running hot water since the Prydwen.

“Overexertion when travelling is unwise, so it would be a good idea to rest for a while.”

“That’s a yes then. Let’s go!”

 

They were treated as guests of honour at Graygarden, which Danse hadn’t expected. Apparently Valentine had helped Keys get the place back up and running after the water supply had been cut off, and now the crops were growing faster and bigger than ever. No wonder so many humans had decided to move in, despite the fact that the place was managed by Mr Handies. Perhaps the hot water had something to do with it too.

He felt miles better once he had showered, rinsing the blood from his hair and dislodging a week’s worth of grime and grease from all the little nooks and crannies it ended up in. When he emerged, feeling refreshed, he saw Piper sitting by the currently inactive firepit looking about the same.

“You sure clean up, don’t you Big Guy?” she said as he sat down opposite. He sighed.

“Are you going to call me that forever?”

“It was either that or Mighty Mighty Man and that was too long. So yeah, pretty much.” She grinned as she sipped at her mug of coffee, before lifting it. “You want some of this, by the way? There’s a guy in that building just giving the stuff away.”

“Maybe.” He had never been a huge fan of coffee, but he wasn’t going to deny the fact that something to curb his exhaustion would be appreciated. “Where’s Valentine?”

“One of the Handies is having a look at his arm.”

“I see. I think I’ll go and have some of that coffee.”

When he returned from the shack Piper had gestured towards, where there had indeed been a man brewing coffee, she was looking thoughtful.

“You feeling OK?” she asked, which took him by surprise.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You’re running on two hours of sleep and you just took out like, six mutants single-handed. And… you almost called me Keys. Don’t think I didn’t hear that.”

“I fought many mutants with her. I merely forgot that I was travelling with different companions.”

“You miss her?”

If the question about how he felt had been a slap to the face, the one about Keys was a punch to the stomach.

“I… well, I deliberately separated myself from her.”

“Yeah, but do you miss her?”

“I miss… travelling with her,” he told her, deciding that was the least uncomfortable way of putting it. “I could always trust her to have my back and, no offence intended, but I do not trust you or Valentine with that.”

“Ah, so you miss being protected more than her specifically? OK. Makes sense.” Piper shrugged.

“Well, no, I do, but… why are you asking me this?”

“I’m a reporter, I can’t help it. I’m curious about _everyone_. I’m also curious about why you left her anyway. I never quite figured that one out.”

“I was under the impression I had already told you. About… trying to fill the gap the Brotherhood made with new people.”

“But couldn’t you have done that with her?”

“I didn’t want to. I rely on her too much. Especially… lately. She deserves a chance to be apart from me, to not have to worry.”

“If you think she’s not worrying her ass off right now you don’t know her as well as you think you do.”

That hurt, like a sharp, sudden crack of a whip. He hadn’t thought of that. He’d just assumed she’d read his note, acknowledge it and move on.

“She has many more people to concern herself with than myself,” he told Piper, trying to convince himself more than anything. Piper gave him a look that he couldn’t quite read – pity, maybe?

“Not to break the ‘what happens at the noodle stand stays at the noodle stand’ rule, but she _really_ cares about you, you dolt. She was more upset than I’ve ever seen her at you _not_ being dead, I don’t even want to think about what she would’ve been like if you’d _actually died_. You’ve _got_ to know she cares about you, right? You _cannot_ be that dense.”

“I do, I do know,” he reassured her. “I know that she cares about me, as a friend, but…” There was no way he could finish that sentence. He didn’t even like thinking about it. Saying it out loud was out of the question.

Piper did it for him.

“But you don’t want her to care about you as a friend,” she said, gently.

“What? I – no!” He tried to backpedal as fast as he could, but he knew, really, that it was a lost cause. Piper was too Piper for that.

“Look, I might not have a lot of personal experience with it but I know heartbreak when I see it. Which is why it makes even _less_ sense that you ran off without her.”

“I’m a _synth_.”

“So?”

“So…” He gaped, trying to comprehend why Piper couldn’t see it for herself. It was blindingly obvious. “She’s not! She’s a real human, who had a husband and a family who loved her. Real love, not some… code that simulates it. It’s… wrong. Inappropriate.”

“That’s Brotherhood talking again. Cut that out. The only thing that makes you different from an average human guy is that you’ve got a thingy in your brain – that, and you’re a hell of a lot more decent than the average human guy these days.”

“I – I’m not sure -”

“I wouldn’t be egging you on if I wasn’t totally sure that you’d be good for her. You know I deal in the truth, Danse.”

“I-” he began, but he didn’t get the chance to say any more as more Minutemen than he’d ever seen in one place at once marched into Graygarden. Valentine appeared from the greenhouse, crossing the settlement to meet with the leader. The set of expressions that crossed his face as they talked was almost single-handedly enough to convince Danse of Valentine’s humanity, because there was no chance in hell that a simple robot could feel so strongly . When the detective came over to them, he was plainly  _extremely_ worried.

“What is it?” said Piper, standing up. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Keys,” he said, jaw tight. “She and Preston are stuck in a pre-War building that’s coming down on top of them. Have been for over a day.”

Danse stood up so suddenly that both Piper and Valentine took a step back.

“ _Where_?” he demanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure how in-character Danse was in this chapter, but at least things are finally coming together!
> 
> As a break from the angst I did a very silly piece of fanart (for my own fic, yes). http://eggplantwitch.tumblr.com/post/158243338612/a-tldr-of-the-fanfic-im-currently-publishing-on


	8. Fading

Keys was not feeling good. Not good at all. The pain from cut on her arm and the slight hole in her foot had long since started to fade, provided she didn’t jostle them, but the wound on her thigh where the ghoul had sunk its claws into her had gone from bad to worse. It was red and yellow and green and enflamed, almost as painful to look at as it was to experience. The glands of her throat had swollen and her head felt light and woozy, and when Preston delicately laid the back of his hand against her forehead he withdrew almost immediately.

“That’s one hell of a fever,” he said, his concerned face illuminated by nothing more than the light of his lantern. “Have you got any Med-X? Anything to help?”

She slowly shook her head. She didn’t like to carry drugs on her that weren’t Rad-X or Stimpaks, it just felt like asking for trouble. Apparently not carrying them had been asking for trouble, too.

“Hold on, let me get you some water…”

Preston disappeared out of her blurry line of sight, returning with a bottle of purified water. It was lukewarm, like everything was these days, but she was grateful for it anyway, gulping it down greedily before she thought to ask:

“How much do we have left?”

“Enough to last us until the Minutemen arrive.”

“How _much_ , Garvey?” she croaked, more forcefully.

“Three bottles.”

She flinched as another rumble ran along the inside of the building. It had started to do that more frequently now, once every few hours. It had been buffeted by radstorms for the past two centuries, so the top floors hadn’t been awfully stable to begin with, but the sentry bot explosion had really done a number on the lower levels. Every time it grumbled or groaned Keys had another vision of a piece of falling rubble crushing Preston and encasing her even more, leaving her to die alone in the dark.

Preston distracted her from her visions of doom by gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

“General Keys,” he said. “We _are_ going to survive. For all we know there could be Minutemen up there right now, making their way to us. Have faith.”

She nodded weakly. She knew he was right, they’d sent out their message so there was no reason to assume that they were _definitely_ going to die, but she felt so sick, shivering beneath a thin film of sweat. She didn’t have the strength to _make_ herself think or feel or do _anything_.

“You should lie down,” said Preston. “Try and get some sleep, if you can. Get as much energy as possibly for fighting off that infection until help gets here.”

She hesitated, still uneasy with the idea of being unconscious and unaware while trapped way underground. But _if_ she could fall asleep, then it would grant her a few hours of respite from the nausea and the pain. So she looked in her pack for something to sleep on and found a straw pillow, perfect for resting her head against, but as she pulled it out her fingers brushed past the Brotherhood jumpsuit, and her heart caught in her throat again. Danse…

She pulled the jumpsuit out as well, clutching it in one hand as she lay down on her side, uninjured arm pressed against the concrete. She wondered what he was doing. She couldn’t even make a guess based on the time of day, since the death of the Pip-Boy had brought about an end to her time-keeping technology. It felt like night. So maybe he was asleep but, knowing him, probably not. She tightened her grip, a fresh wave of worry rolling across her. How was he managing his bad dreams on his own? Was he on his own at all? That was a nicer thought. Maybe he had found his way to a settlement, or maybe he’d gone to Diamond City like she’d suggested. Maybe he was OK.

Finally, despite the thoughts swirling around her head, she slept – or dozed, if nothing else, drifting in and out of consciousness as the fever took over. When she woke up, headache pounding and vision blurred, she discovered Preston’s jacket draped over her and the man himself pacing around the middle of the room. He was worried, she could tell, as worried as he’d been when she first found him in Concord preparing to make his final stand. He didn’t know she was awake yet, that was why he wasn’t putting on a brave face for her like he had been since they’d been trapped. How long ago had it been, now? More than a day. Two? Three? She didn’t know.

Eventually he spotted her and just like that the worry disappeared from his features, replaced with a look of concerned calm.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. She didn’t even have the energy to sit up. She was sick, really sick, she knew she was.

“Last time I felt this weak I’d just given birth,” she told him, before finding the strength in herself to try and lighten the mood. “Despite everything I think this is still better.”

“That’s definitely understandable. Do you want more water? There’s still almost two bottles left.”

“No… I’m alright,” she said. She rolled from her side onto her back, looking up at the cracked ceiling and wincing as another tremor ran through the building. She couldn’t remember ever being so scared. “Preston?”

“What is it?”

“What happens if I don’t make it out? Maybe you will but…”

“We’re going to make it out. Both of us,” he said. “I promise.”

“You can’t promise that. Please, Preston, if I don’t…” She reached out and clutched at the sleeve of his shirt and he looked down at her, attentive. “Will you find Danse? And make sure he’s alright?”

“Sure, but -”

“Tell him I was… I was thinking of him. Please?”

“I will,” he said patiently, before extracting himself from her grip of her hand and placing his own within it, “but you’ll tell him yourself.”

“How are you so sure? I saw you, when you thought I wasn’t looking. You’re scared too.”

“Of course I am,” he said softly, releasing her hand to roll from kneeling to sitting besides her. “But I’m scared a lot more than I let on and it’s always worked out in the past. Taking out the Institute, fighting the Mirelurks to reclaim the Castle, facing the raiders in Concord… we’ve both done a lot more than I think two humans should have to. But we’ve always pulled through. You’re a strong person, and even if you’re sick and tired I know you’ll hold out long enough for help to come.”

“And if I don’t…?”

“Then I’ll do what you’ve asked me.”

“OK.” She nodded, face scraping slightly against the concrete. “Thank you, Preston.”

 He didn’t say anything, just smile, and then he suddenly froze.

“What?” she croaked.

“I think I heard something,” he said softly. They both stopped and listened.

 Very, very distantly… voices. Shouting to each other, and even though it was impossible to make out what it was they were saying Preston _grinned_.

“I told you. Just a little longer,” he said, before indicating to the jumpsuit she still had clutched in her hands, “and you’ll be able to speak to Danse yourself. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one! Sorry about that, but to make up for it Friday's update will be a DOUBLE WHAMMY TWO PARTER (because otherwise it would've been a fifth of the total word count all on its own and that just felt cruel). Thanks for reading so far!


	9. Going Down (Part I)

Danse wasn’t sure when he’d last felt so anxious and so _irritated_ simultaneously, having resorted to pacing around the front of the greenhouse in an attempt to expel nervous energy. He knew if he didn’t then he’d start shouting, and despite the fear and the rage there was still a sensible, logical part of him that knew shouting wouldn’t solve anything. This, however, did not stop him from snapping at the first person who got too close: in this case, Piper.

“Why are we wasting time?” he said impatiently, tightening and loosening the grip on his rifle over and over again. “With these… Minutemen. We should head there as soon as possible, travelling with a group this large will only slow us down.”

“And what, try and dig out an entire building on our own?” said Piper. “I get that you’re worried, we _all_ are, but as soon as these guys are ready to hit the road again we can go with them.”

“I _would_ dig out a building alone if it meant Keys was safe,” he murmured angrily. “If you want to wait around for these ill-equipped, untrained civilians to organise themselves then feel free, but I will _not_ stand by while I know her life is in danger.”

“We’re _not_ standing by,” she said, annoyance flashing across her face. “We’re going to help her, Danse, her and Garvey. You running off on your own isn’t going to do jack shit.”

Danse opened his mouth to defend himself, but shut it when he noticed that one of the Minutemen had peeled away from the group and was walking towards them purposefully.

“So, you two and Nicky are coming with, are ya?” she said. “Well, you’d better not slow us down.”

“I could say the same about you,” said Danse, before he had a chance to think about what he was saying. The terrifying glare she shot him served as ample reminder not to do that again.

“You’re just lucky we’re not the sort to turn down help, especially not when both the General and that Garvey kid are relying on us. So you’d better hurry up. Reckon if we keep a steady pace and don’t run into too many undesirables we’ll make it by sundown.”

“Then let’s leave,” said Danse.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, idiot.”

She didn’t stay long enough for him to protest, she simply marched back over to where the Minutemen had assembled by the greenhouse, barked some orders and began to lead them out of Graygarden. Piper shot Danse a look, shrugged before jogging to catch up, finding Nick amongst the sea of dusters and hats and falling in beside him.

Danse debated joining them as the group moved out, but he was still feeling raw and vulnerable both from the earlier conversation about his feelings for Keys and from the revelation that she was in serious trouble. He wasn’t sure he could take any comments, kind or sarcastic or otherwise, from either Piper or Valentine right now. Instead, he turned his attention to the Minuteman woman leading the group. There was something familiar in the way she acted, and in the way the Minutemen all obeyed as though they were scared half to death of her. He was reminded of Paladin Krieg and of Lancer-Captain Kells, people who demanded authority and were given it in handfuls. All in all, she clearly knew what she was doing, and since he was rapidly starting to feel panic encroach upon him he moved towards her in the hopes he could somehow leech from her confidence.

“What do you want?” she said derisively as she noticed him.

“You’re clearly the commanding officer here, ma’am,” he said, thinking back to how he had acted as a young Initiate. “I thought it would be prudent to at least learn your name.”

His memories of Brotherhood superiors served him well, because he watched as his manners eroded some of her prickliness.

“Good call,” she said. “Ronnie Shaw, Castle Quartermaster, but I was gonna be damned if I stayed put while everyone else was marching out.”

 He nodded, silently admiring her commitment, but she didn’t give him time to respond before saying:

“So who the hell are you? Definitely not one of ours. Friend of Valentine’s?”

“Not… entirely. More like a friend of the General’s.”

“Is that so? Huh. You got a name?”

“Um.” He knew it wasn’t a good idea to introduce himself by his real name, for the sake of security, but he panicked. “Danse.”

“Hm…” She seemed to consider this, which was disturbing, before shrugging. “Name rings a bell so maybe you’re telling the truth. Whatever, so long as you help out I don’t give a crap who you are or where you’re from. That’s the Minuteman way.”

“I suppose it is. Ke – the General always made it seem so, anyway.” There was that dread again, edging in. In an attempt to drive it away he asked: “If you don’t mind me asking, what will be done once we’ve arrived at this building she’s trapped in?”

“First port of call is the Minutemen who’re already there. See how they’re gettin’ along. Set up a shift so we can work through the night, if we need to. Hell, could be that the place isn’t even that bad and they’re already out, in which case we’ll look like a load of damn fools.”

“You will have proved your dedication and your loyalty.”

Shaw gave him a strange look at that, as though she wasn’t sure whether to be confused or impressed.

“Guess you do know her,” she said. “That, or you’ve got the same kind of bleedin’ heart. Hm, maybe a bit of both. But I guess I can’t complain, what with the way she’s got the Minutemen dusted off and back on their feet.”

“Have you… been a Minuteman long?” he asked, almost surprised at how curious he was. Shaw snorted.

“Longer than you’ve been alive, that’s one thing for sure.”

“So I take it you’ve seen several leaders come and go?”

“Oh yeah. You’re gonna ask me what I think of her as a leader, aren’t you? Thought so. Could see it all across that big face of yours.”

“So…?”

“So I wouldn’t’ve come back if I didn’t think she was up to it. Simple as that. It’d be a damn shame if we lost her.”

Danse nodded mutely. He had been desperately fighting off visions of Keys lying injured, bleeding, dying in some hole in the ground. He imagined himself clearing the rubble and finding her just a minute too late, colour drained from her perfect skin, hanging limp in his arms. He shivered involuntarily, and was glad when Shaw spoke again, giving him something to focus on and keep himself grounded.

“Jesus, no need to look like that. I’m not sure about that Garvey but Keys is a tough woman. We’ll probably dig her out of the ground to find her complaining about us taking too long.”

“I think she would simply just be grateful,” said Danse. Shaw shrugged again, but he saw the very faintest trace of a genuine smile on her face before it vanished.

“Yeah, maybe. Anyway, if I thought she was dead or if I thought she wasn’t worth the effort I sure as hell wouldn’t’ve rounded up half a dozen Minutemen to march across the Commonwealth.”

“Thank you for coming to her aid.”

“No need to thank me,” she said, amused. “Now, that friend of yours in red’s been trying to get your attention for the past minute. You gonna go to her?” She nodded backwards, drawing attention to the fact that Piper was waving at him. He sighed.

“I think that would be best. Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

Shaw raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything more, so he drifted back to Piper. Piper, as it turned, merely wanted to know whether Shaw was as scary as she seemed. While he was annoyed, it was still a distraction. So he obliged.

 

It felt like he’d been walking for days. His feet ached, his head was woozy from lack of sleep, his stomach was empty and making damn well sure he knew it. He was _exhausted_ , physically from the walk and emotionally from the thoughts of Keys that made their way past his defences from time to time. But, somehow, he forgot it all as they approached the building.

It loomed up in the dying light, half-crumbled, concrete spilling out across the ground around it, glass shattered and signs fallen. And, somewhere beneath the wreckage, was Keys.

“Woah, Danse!” Piper called out as he charged away, but he didn’t care. _Keys_ was there. Buried, trapped, scared. He couldn’t _wait_ any longer, he _had_ to help her, he didn’t _care_ about how tired he was or how much pain he was in, he just knew he had to help.

There were Minutemen outside, all giving him a startled look as he ran up. One of them even began to reach for his gun, but then Danse said:

“Have you found her? Have you found Keys?”

“You part of the reinforcements?” said one, and Danse nodded rapidly, but another answered the question at the same time.

“No, not yet. We’re still trying to clear our way to the elevator shaft so we can drop down from there,” he explained calmly, and then fear crossed his face as he looked up past Danse. “Oh God, is that Ronnie Shaw?”

“Shit, it is,” said the other Minuteman. “You talk to her, you’re in charge.”

“I’m not in charge!”

“Howdy fellas,” Shaw called as she and her assembly of Minutemen, Piper and Valentine reached the collapsed building. “How are we gettin’ along here?”

The one who had insisted he wasn’t in charge took charge, apparently because no one else was volunteering.

“Like we were telling this guy,” he said, indicating to Danse, “we’ve not found the General or Preston Garvey yet. We’ve identified that the elevator shaft has remained intact so we’ve been trying to get to it and lower someone down to check out the lower levels.”

“Smart thinkin’. How’s it coming?”

“We’ll show you, while the rest of your men set up camp. It’s going to be a long night.”

“If you’re looking to organise a night shift, I would like to volunteer to be a part of it,” said Danse. It wasn’t as if he could possibly sleep knowing Keys was in danger anyway, but clearly Piper had other ideas.

“Like hell you are,” she said sternly, appearing besides him. “Don’t listen to him, he’s delirious from sleep loss.”

“I am _not_ del-”

“See? Denial. That’s one of the symptoms, right?”

The Minuteman, clearly bewildered, just put up his hands.

“I’ll let you sort that out amongst yourselves. Er, Quartermaster, if you’d come this way?”

Once Shaw had been led into the building the company she’d brought with her dispersed somewhat, setting up sleeping bags and campfires amongst those that were already there. Danse managed to keep his mouth shut until he, Piper and Nick were standing a sufficient distance away from the rest, and then he tore into her.

“You have _no_ right to tell me what I can and cannot do,” he snarled, “especially not when someone I care about is in danger.”

“I’m not going to stop you from helping, idiot!” she snapped back. “I can just tell that you’re gonna wipe out and you’re gonna do it pretty soon, and a collapsing building isn’t a good place to do it. You can’t keep this up!”

“I can and I will!”

“You can’t and you won’t,” said Valentine. “All we’re asking is a couple of hours. Then we’ll get you up again and you can help out.”

“You don’t _understand_ ,” said Danse, but he could feel his anger starting to subside already. He wished it wasn’t. It was about all that was powering him at this point. “I _can’t_. Even if I wanted to. I can’t sleep, not while she’s down there. Not while I can still help.”

“So what, you’re gonna keep going until you literally keel over?” said Piper.

“Yes.”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

“You can’t stop me.” He glared at her, daring her to try. He should’ve known she’d rise to that challenge.

“And so what happens if you _do_ drop, out of exhaustion? What then? What if it’s just before we find her? What if it’s just when we really need you, but instead you used up all your energy when you’d have been better off saving it for later?”

“You have no way of knowing -”

“You really think Keys is gonna be happy to know that you made yourself sick trying to help her?” said Valentine. That _really_ hurt, enough that it only enraged him further, but Valentine continued. “Do you have any idea how guilty she’d feel?”

“Why would she…” Danse started, but he already knew the answer. The look on her face, every time she thought she’d hurt him by accident, every time he was attacked or injured in his explorations with her, every time she thought it might even be _remotely_ her fault. She never cried, she never begged. But she’d always been horrified.

“She’s not very good with guilt,” said Piper, her tone a little softer than it had been before. “C’mon, Big Guy. We’re not trying to stop you from helping.”

“We’re doing what we can to make sure you’re in the best shape you can be,” said Valentine.

“And I’m _telling_ you… I can’t sleep. If I tried, I’d just feel worse,” said Danse.

“So just lie down for a while,” said Piper. “Don’t even have to sleep. Just, you know, give yourself an hour.”

He knew they were right. He knew Keys would blame herself if he was hurt in his efforts to help her. He knew that he’d be in a better place to help if he’d rested. And, most importantly, he knew that the chances of him winning an argument against Piper were next to none.

“Fine. But only an hour, understand?”  
“Understood,” said Valentine. “And while you do that I’ll go and see how I can help. Piper, you coming?”

“I’ll catch up. I’m gonna make sure Danse makes good on his promise.”

Nick nodded and headed towards the entrance to the collapsed building while Piper tailed him towards the assembly of tents and sleeping bags. She watched him as he laid out his own, and once he was horizontal she nodded.

“Alright. Now you stay there and you rest, OK?”

“I shall do my best,” he said, and then she disappeared out of view.

He lay there on the ground, listening to the activities both within the building and outside of it. Two Minutemen emerged covered in dust and debris, complaining about their arching arms and dry throats from the day’s work. From the way they spoke, it sounded as though it was the north-east corner that had suffered the most damage, most likely being where the troubles had started. But they were confident that so long as their General and Preston Garvey weren’t in the north-eastern corner, then they’d be found safe and sound almost as soon as they got down the shaft. Perhaps even before daybreak.

Listening to the Minutemen recovering from their exploits had a calming effect on Danse, especially when they addressed their hopes for finding the General. It gave him the ability to twist his thoughts about what would happen when he found her, give them a positive spin. It took a little effort but he allowed himself to imagine being the one to find her, and instead of being too late he was right on time. He pictured her smiling to see him, taking his hand as he offered it to her, squeezing it gently and holding on even once she was on the surface.

It didn’t really feel right, trying to picture her acting like that, to feel the same things for him that he felt for her. He felt guilty. But Piper had said he shouldn’t. That maybe, if he’d read between the lines of that conversation correctly, it might be worth talking to Keys about it. Being apart from her, even for only a few days, had given him a lot of time to think and reflect. Yes. He’d talk to her. He would. As soon as he found her.

 

The next thing he knew he was jumping awake, alarmed by a sudden movement besides him, but it was just a Minuteman, walking past on her way to her sleeping bag. _Sleeping…_ how long had he been asleep? He swore under his breath. He was going to kill Piper. Not literally, but figuratively at the very least.

He stumbled to his feet, ignoring the aching protests of the muscles in his legs, and looked over to the crumbling building. It was illuminated by lanterns, giving it an eerie glow, and from the sounds coming from within it appeared work was still ongoing. He scowled. What a waste of time. He could’ve been helping, but instead that annoying reporter had let him sleep. He glanced around, looking for her, but when he found her the desire to admonish her faded. She was passed out on a sleeping bag by the main campfire, hat laid beside her, dirt smudged across her face. Maybe she’d really had every intention of waking him up but hadn’t been able to fend off sleep long enough herself. Or maybe she just wanted him to rest, to get back his strength. At any rate, he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her.

Instead he headed into the building, blinking as his night-vision was burned away and feeling immediately vulnerable under the seven pairs of eyes that fixed upon him as he stumbled in. One of them belonged to Nick Valentine, and Danse decided to focus on him first.

“Where’s Quartermaster Shaw?” he asked.

“Just missed her,” said Valentine. “She hit the hay a few minutes ago.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“By my count? I’d say about three hours.”

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep that long.”

“Are you gonna help now?” asked one of the Minutemen. “Because if you could swap with me that’d be awesome.”

The other Minutemen all immediately complained.

“Hey, no fair!”

“Our shift’s not up for another two hours!”

“I’ve been awake _way_ longer than you.”

Valentine let them grumble for a few seconds before interjecting.

“No one’s gonna get more than their fair share of rest, alright, but since Danse is here and I’m betting I couldn’t make him go back to bed if I tried we’ll make use of him. Danse, how about you go help Marshal and Clo over there?” He gestured to a couple of Minutemen, only one wearing the hat, who were at the other side of the room poking around one of the larger piles of rubble. “They’re our strongest so they’re in charge of pulling out the bigger bits and tossing them over our way so we can get the way to the elevator cleared.”

“It looks as though you’re most of the way there,” Danse observed.

“We’re gonna get there by sun-up,” said the female Minuteman, pushing a lock of her short blonde hair from her face. “Especially with you helping. Then I’m gonna go pass out and let the day shift take care of it, OK?”

“I’m sure you’ve done your share of work, soldier.”

 It slipped out before he could stop it. She tilted her head and gave him a funny look but she didn’t say anything about it, instead opting to declare:

“You’re damn right. Now get over here and help me lug out this bit of… desk, I think?”

“Gladly.”

He had to admit, begrudgingly, that he knew he wouldn’t have been much use had he not slept. Even just three hours had been enough for his sleep-starved body to claw back some of his full potential, allowing him to heft out much larger chunks of debris than the other two Minutemen could manage. He could tell they were impressed, and while he told himself he didn’t care about the opinions of a mere Minuteman he _did_ feel flattered. It felt good, being useful. Even when he sliced open his hands, even when he grazed his knee, even when he bashed his shoulder, it felt _good_.

As the Minuteman had predicted, just as the day shift were trailing in (dishevelled ad disorganised, Danse noted), the door to the elevator shaft was finally exposed. Only halfway, but enough that Danse could scramble up the pile of rubble yet to be cleared and prise open the doors, earning him a few more looks of astounded admiration. It was pitch black the whole way down, but that could only mean one thing.

“It’s clear,” he announced. “It’s clear! We can get someone down there.”

“I’ll go get Kerry, he’s got the rope and kit!” said one of the Minutemen who had just arrived, darting off through the doors barely thirty seconds after he’d first entered them.

“And you,” said Valentine, pointing to another. “Go get Shaw, she’s in charge here and if no one wakes her up we’ll all be in trouble.”

The Minuteman quailed a little at the prospect of having to wake up Ronnie Shaw but she did as she was asked, following the first back outside. Danse watched them leave and then suppressed a flinch as Valentine appeared by his side, peering down into the gloom.

“We can only get one man down at a time,” he said, “but I think it’s fair you be one of the first.”

“That decision is out of your hands,” Danse pointed out, before registering exactly what Valentine had said. “But thank you. I… assume you would also like to head below.”

“If Shaw thinks I’ll be of any use then I’ll get down there in a heartbeat. I owe it to Keys, after all she’s done for me. But I trust you, too.”

“…thank you,” he said, again. “I appreciate that.”

“And I appreciate the fact you appreciate it, what with how much of an ass you’ve been in the past.”

Danse felt the faint sting of guilt as Valentine lit a cigarette. He could tell that the synth had been doing nothing but help ever since they’d arrived on site, both by offering advice to the labouring Minutemen and getting stuck in himself, if the huge gash down the side of his one good hand was anything to go by. Perhaps Keys’ insistence that Valentine was a good and decent man hadn’t been so odd after all.

“I… suppose I have not apologised, for the way I treated you in the past,” he said, forcing it out before he could change his mind. “But I would like to do so now. I believe I have a better understanding of why Keys regards you with such… affection.”

“Huh,” said Valentine. Then he smiled. “Apology accepted, Danse.”

Danse nodded curtly, glad that he’d been accepted but also still extremely uncomfortable with any semblance of a relationship with Valentine. He got down from the pile of rubble, feeling it shift slightly beneath his feet, sending a few pieces rattling down the elevator shaft. The building groaned eerily, and he shuffled a little further away.

A few minutes later Shaw and both Minutemen who had been sent out returned, accompanied by three new arrivals who had marched all the way down from Sanctuary overnight to pitch in. Clearly Keys inspired as much loyalty in her followers as she did in her friends.

“Alright, good work,” said Shaw, after she’d taken a look at the elevator shaft for herself. “Kerry, you go down first, it’s your kit and you’ve got the helmet. You take a look around, then you report back. After that we’ll start thinkin’ about sendin’ people down.”

“On it, Shaw,” said the one named Kerry, executing an old-fashioned salute that could have been either mocking _or_ sincere from the smirk on Shaw’s face, Danse couldn’t tell. He and the others all watched eagerly as Kerry set up the equipment, feeding ropes through metal loops and around the sturdiest of the concrete columns near the shaft. Then he showed four of the Minutemen how to handle the rope, turned on his helmet’s flashlight and disappeared down into the darkness. They all crowded around.

“Fuckin’ hell it’s a mess down here!” he called up. “God, I hope they’re not under that pile in the east corner.”

“They’re gonna be right at the bottom,” Shaw shouted, voice echoing off the insides of the shaft. “Dunno whereabouts, but that’s what I got from Garvey’s little radio message.”

“Too bad he couldn’t keep that radio on,” said Valentine. “Or else we could’ve got in contact with him.”

“They may have had a limited power supply,” said Danse, and Shaw nodded.

“Only thing that makes sense. Alright, Kerry! Have a poke around at the bottom, if you think it’s safe.”

“I think things are stable for now. Give me a sec, I’ll have a look. Getting myself off this rope now, OK? It’s gonna go slack.”

The rope did indeed go slack, though the Minutemen kept a good hold of it. More distant now, Kerry was calling out.

“General? Garvey! Can you hear me!?”

Silence, pacing. He called out again, twice more, until he gasped loudly enough that it was audible even from all the way up on the surface.

“Preston? Preston! It’s Kerry! We’re here!”

A series of soft gasps and grinning faces washed over the group. To Danse it felt like he’d just surfaced from beneath a deep, heavy ocean. Preston was alright. And that meant Keys was alright, too.

“We’re coming for you, OK?” Kerry called back, and then a few minutes later he was back at the bottom of the shaft. In the rapidly growing daylight pouring into the building, the look on his face was unmistakable. “There’s a fuckton of rubble down there, Shaw, and that’s putting it lightly, but Garvey’s OK.”

“And the General?” said Shaw.

“I couldn’t quite make it out, they’re buried pretty far in, but I think she’s sick.”

“Sick?” said Danse, feeling as though he’d just been dragged back under again. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t ask me. There’s three spare mining helmets in my pack next to the shaft, so you can send down three of your biggest and burliest Minutemen, Shaw. Unless anyone’s got a flashlight, then they can come down too.”

“Got it. Good work, Kerry.”

Shaw got up from where she’d been kneeling, and Danse hadn’t even opened his mouth to ask if he could be allowed to go down when she poked him and said:

“You, I dunno how much sleep you’re runnin’ on but you’re strong and you’re dedicated. You go down. Alright, who else?”

 

About ten minutes later, Danse and two other Minutemen (one of whom he recognised as Marshal from earlier, who had clearly not got enough sleep but wanted to help anyway) were lined up outside the shaft. Word had spread quickly through the pop-up camp, and just as the first Minuteman disappeared down into the gloom Piper came rushing in.

“I heard someone say that Keys is hurt,” she said, worry plastered across her face. “Is that true?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Valentine. “But Preston’s certainly alright because he’s been talking to our man down there, or as best he can when stuck behind several feet of rubble.”

“OK. That’s good, right? If she’s with him then he’ll have taken care of her.”

“He’ll have done his best.”

“Are you going down, Danse? I mean, well, that’s a dumb question, of _course_ you are.”

“Quartermaster Shaw has generously allowed me to be one of the first crew of Minutemen to enter the lower levels,” said Danse.

“Except you’re not a Minuteman,” she pointed out. Then she squinted, tilting her head. “Although you would look good in the hat.”

“Keys has said the exact same thing.”

“Stop yakkin’, Danse,” said Shaw, interrupting the conversation, “and get down that hole.”

“Yes ma’am.”

 As she had almost every time he’d treated her with the respect she clearly commanded, she gave him a funny look.

“Wish even half the recruits we got at the Castle could take orders like you. Good luck.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

It was more than a bit nerve-wracking, being lowered into the darkness, knowing that the only thing between him and a drop of several dozen feet was a thin piece of rope and a handful of Minutemen. But they delivered him safely to the bottom, and in the light of his borrowed helmet he could see Kerry and Marshal, plus the other Minuteman he now knew was called Hatter.

“Where is she?” Danse demanded, before correcting himself. “They, I mean.”

“This way.”

Kerry led them down a series of metal steps. Danse realised, with a shiver, that it wasn’t entirely dissimilar to Sentinel Site Prescott. The last Brotherhood mission he’d ever been on. And he’d gone to get _weapons_ , not anything nearly so precious as Keys. He forced such thoughts from his mind as he looked at the mess that lay before them. The rubble from the upper levels cascaded down the walkways, blocking off the stairwell that had forced them to the elevator shaft in the first place, and it all amounted to one giant pile right at the bottom, where Kerry stopped.

“Garvey? Are you still there?” he called, and after a minute the deep voice of Preston Garvey called back.

“We’re here.”

“And Keys? How is she?” said Danse, stepping forwards. Kerry shot him a dirty look but he didn’t _care_ , he had to know.

“… Paladin Danse?”

The Minutemen all quirked their heads at him.

“Paladin?” said one. Danse ignored them.

“Is she _alright,_ Garvey?” he demanded, again. Short pause.

“She’s pretty bad. Infected wound, I think it’s killing her.”

Danse practically threw himself at the pile, reaching for the nearest piece of detritus before Kerry grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back.

“Slow down, you damn idiot!” he hissed. “You’ll bring all that up there crashing down on us. We have to be _careful._ ”

“But she – she’s…”

“She’s _going_ to be fine, once we’ve excavated her and Garvey,” said Kerry firmly, before raising his voice as he turned back to the rubble. “We’re getting you out, Garvey! And you too, General, if you can hear me. You’re gonna be alright!”

He coughed, voice clearly strained from the effort of raising it so loud. “You,” he said to Danse, “I’m gonna ask about that ‘Paladin’ thing later,” and then to others: “For now, we’re gonna have to be careful as all hell or, as I told this one here, it’s gonna come crashing down on us.”

“I think this whole building is gonna come crashing down on us pretty soon, Kerry,” said Marshal as another rumble echoed through. Down here it was a lot more nightmarish than it had been when on the surface. It took almost every ounce of self-control Danse had to just stand there and wait for Kerry to give orders, knowing that Keys was hurt, knowing that she was so close. But he also knew that Kerry was right. If the excavation wasn’t done correctly, it would only make things worse.

Hatter was sent up a level, to keep an eye on the situation up there and to clear as much as he could away from the edges of the walkways to reduce the risk of anything worse happening below. Kerry gave himself and Danse the task of picking out pieces from the entrance to the corridor, while Marshal was in charge of dragging the removed rubble away and piling it up elsewhere.

It was slow, painful work. Danse could feel fresh blood pooling behind the bandages around his hands as he scraped them against the rough pieces of concrete, hauling them away. But every time they stung, every time the pain attempted to distract him, he thought about Keys. Preston had said she was dying. He _couldn’t_ let that happen, not now, not when he was so close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry I forgot to update yesterday! I wrote it down on my to-do list and everything. But I'm here now! Part II incoming!


	10. Going Down (Part II)

More Minutemen were ferried down throughout the day, bringing with them lanterns and flashlights to illuminate the dark underbelly of the old building. The work moved on a lot faster with them around. It felt strange to admit it, but Danse found himself feeling comforted, being part of a team. They were all working towards the same goal, no conflicts of interest, no complaints about their assignments. They worked with far more efficiency than he’d expected of them, and whether that was because of Shaw, who came down despite her distaste for being underground, or because of the goal Danse didn’t know.

He had no idea how much time had passed, not stopping to rest or eat, by the time they cleared out enough rubble to get into the corridor. Hatter had been taking out pieces from above so they moved through fairly quickly.

“Garvey?” Kerry said, and Preston’s voice came back much clearer.

“You’re close, Kerry.”

“Fuckin’ hell, there’s a bit of a sentry bot here. That’s a bit of a sentry bot, right?” said Kerry, holding it up. Danse nodded. He recognised it well. “Is that what happened?”  
“It was malfunctioning and when it blew it brought this all down on us,” said Preston.

“How’s Keys?” said Danse.

“Keys?” Preston’s voice got a little fainter, presumably as he turned away. “Keys?!”

“What is it? What’s wrong?!”

“She’s… she’s no longer conscious. I think the fever got too much for her.”

Danse immediately grabbed at the next piece of concrete, dragging it away despite the screaming pain from his hands. Kerry didn’t argue this time, digging back in immediately.

“Come on, lads!” he shouted back to the rest. “We’re almost there, and the General needs us!”

Danse knew that realistically it wasn’t even half an hour until they cleared the way through, but somehow it felt longer than all of the rest of the time spent digging put together. He pulled at piece after piece, all but throwing them behind him, forcing the other Minutemen to scuttle to pick them up and take them away. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest so violently that it felt as though his whole body was convulsing along with it, until the rubble was cleared enough that they could pour into the dimly lit room.

It had been storage, lined with shelves that housed now-opened metal boxes and there, at the other end, were Preston and Keys. Danse couldn’t stop himself from running over, crashing to his knees besides her.

“Keys!”

She was washed out and pale, covered in a thin layer of sweat, jumpsuit half-removed to reveal an ugly wound trailing down one of her arms. He reached out, delicately sliding his hand beneath her neck, cradling her head. Her skin was hot beneath his fingers.

“Oh Jesus,” said Kerry, “that’s not good. You! Marshal! Go back up and tell them to get ready.”

“On it,” said Marshal, vanishing out of the corridor. Kerry turned back, looking down at Keys. “We’re gonna have to find some way of moving her sa – oh, that’ll do it.”

Danse hadn’t really thought about whether it was a good idea to pick her up or not, he just did it. One arm under her knees, the other supporting her shoulders as her head rested against his chest. Her breathing was so shallow that for one terrifying moment he thought she might not be breathing at all.

He’d felt a faint urge to snap at Preston, to ask angrily how he could possibly have let this happen to her, but he stopped when he saw what the man was doing – namely, gathering up Keys’ belongings. Chief among them was a Brotherhood jumpsuit, crumpled on the floor near where she’d been lying. Had she been clinging onto it all this time? Why?

“Well, shit,” said Shaw, appearing in the corridor, glancing at Keys in Danse’s arms. “Wondered why Marshal was shouting about medics on his way out. What about you, Garvey? How’re you feeling?” She turned to Preston.

“Looking forwards to getting out of here,” he said. “I’m fine, Shaw. Bruised but fine. General Keys is the one who needs all the help.”

“You good to carry her?” Shaw asked Danse, who nodded. “Then go to the elevator shaft, get them to take you both up. Garvey, you go after. Then the rest of us’ll fight it out.”

Danse headed for the exit point, trying to ignore the horrified gasps and stares that came from the Minutemen still out in the main room. He was hoisted out, apparently with some difficulty due to the extra weight, and was then guided to the Minuteman who had the most medical expertise, waiting in one of the uncollapsed rooms to the side of the ground floor.

“That’s one of the nastiest infections I’ve ever seen,” she said, horrified, as Danse brought her over. “Put her down on the desk. I know it’s not much but it’s all we’ve got for now. We’re gonna have to take her back to Sunshine Tidings for proper treatment.”

Danse found himself hesitant to let her go, fearing that if he put her down he might not have the chance to pick her back up, but he looked into the earnest gaze of the Minuteman medic and did as she asked.

“Is she… is she dying?” he asked, once he found the strength. The Minuteman pulled a syringe out of her bag, inspecting it carefully before she injected it into Keys’ infected thigh.

“Not if I can help it. If she’s treated properly she’ll recover, but right now, she’s not good. Get me some water, will you? She needs some fluids in her.”

He obediently retrieved a canister of purified water from the medic’s field kit, and then watched as it was very carefully administered. After that he knew the medic would have to fully remove Keys’ jumpsuit to treat the wound on her thigh and he left, unprompted, feeling that it was inappropriate.

He paced around outside, stopping every now and then to press his head against the wall until Piper stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop.

“Danse?” she said. “I just saw some Minutemen walking away with Preston. Is Keys OK?”

“She has a badly infected wound, which she’s being treated for,” he said, doing his best to keep the terrified wobble from his voice. “The medic believed that we may have to bring her to a larger settlement for proper treatment.”

“Jesus… do you know what happened?”

“Judging from the corpses in the lower levels and the shape of her wound I imagine she was scratched by a ghoul.”

 Piper winced, as if imagining it herself.

“And the building collapse?”

“I believe it had something to do with a sentry bot. You should talk to Preston Garvey.”

“I think I will, but…” She trailed off, pausing. “Are you alright? You look kind of as if you’re about to start crying and I know you’d hate that.”

“I’m… simply worried for my friend.”

“OK.” Piper nodded, still with a concerned frown on her face. “I’m going to find Preston and see how he’s doing. But I’ll be around, alright?”

He didn’t respond, so she walked off, peering around as she did so. Danse scanned the people who had gathered, trying to people-watch in an attempt to distract himself. Quite a lot of Minutemen had turned up one way or another. If he had to guess he’d say almost twenty, not including himself, Piper and Valentine. He wasn’t sure where Valentine was. He imagined that the detective would be worried about Keys too. _Everyone_ here was.

 

After an hour, the medic declared there was nothing more she could do for Keys and that the best thing for her now was to be taken to Sunshine Tidings, where a clean bed and a well-equipped clinic awaited her. Danse carried her the entire way, daring anyone else to try and stop him, but no one did. He avoided Piper and Valentine as much as he could, but when Preston approached him he didn’t make any attempt to move away.

“Garvey,” said Danse. “I was… hoping to speak with you.”

“You were?” said Preston, looking surprised. “What about?”

“Initially, I was angry with you. I couldn’t understand how you could have let this happen,” he confessed, looking down at Keys and her pale face, eyes shut. “But you took care of her. I’ve realised that. I wanted to thank you.”

“It wasn’t as if I could have let her die. You know… she wanted me to speak to you, if anything did happen. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you since she’s going to pull through now.”

“Are you so sure that she will?” he asked, frowning. He didn’t want to look away from her now, but the tone of Garvey’s voice forced him to.

“Yes,” he said. “I know she will. Just like I knew that we were going to make it out of that room.”

“How?”

“Because I have faith. I know that a man like you might not believe in it much, Danse, but I do. I’ve always had faith.”

Danse considered this for a moment, before nodding slightly.

“You said she wanted you to tell me something,” he said.

“And like I said, maybe I shouldn’t. But… I think it was important. She wanted me to let you know she was thinking of you.”

“Is that why she had my jumpsuit?”

“It think it comforted her,” said Preston thoughtfully. “She cares about you, a lot. I hope you don’t ever take that for granted.”

“I won’t,” said Danse firmly. “Not ever again.”

“Good.” Preston seemed satisfied that he was being truthful. “Now, Valentine wanted me to let you know that if your arms get tired there’s a queue of volunteers forming. But something tells me that you’ll be fine.”

“I will. But… thank you.”

Preston tilted his hat slightly before he peeled away, heading back towards Piper and Valentine. Once he was gone Danse looked back down at Keys. Even when unconscious there was a slight frown on her face, a look of pain. He instinctively tightened his grip on her, willing her to be alright. He couldn’t face it if she wasn’t. He needed her to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could've had a more even split in the length of Part I and the length of Part II, but I couldn't really see any other way of doing it. I hope it was easy enough to read, and I hope it didn't drag on too long. The final chapter will be up on Monday!


	11. 00:00:00

Keys returned to consciousness slowly, each sense returning to her one at a time. First she was aware of the dull ache in her head, the sharp sting of her leg and the soreness of her arm, but she was lying on something soft and cosy. It smelled clean, like washed linens, and the sounds she could hear were peaceful ones of people talking and a Brahmin mooing, the gentle inhale and exhale of another person close by. Then she opened her eyes, almost screwing them shut again when the light came flooding in, but she let them adjust.

She was in a small wooden cabin, lying on a comfortable bed while the sunlight streamed in through a window. And, sitting on a chair right next to her, was Danse. He had his arms resting on the side of the bed, head laid down upon them and turned away from her. It took her only a brief second to realise that he was fast asleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so peaceful.

For a moment she wondered if she might be dreaming. The last thing she could remember was lying on the floor, shivering in a puddle of her own sweat while Preston desperately tried to calm her. Where she was now was such a stark contrast she was finding it hard to believe, at least until she fixed her eyes upon Danse again.

Very slowly, she reached out and gently ran her fingers through his hair. It was clean and soft, and that made her smile. He’d been taking care of himself. She was glad. She was so glad he was here, beside her, so close she could touch him. She repeated the gesture, not sure why it brought her so much comfort.

She stayed in the quiet, watching him sleep, until finally he seemed to stir. Slowly at first, and then lifting his head, looking around until his eyes met hers. It felt like being shot all over again. She’d forgotten how warm they were, deep brown and full of the emotions that his voice never betrayed. Right now she couldn’t tell if he was relieved or concerned or both.

“Danse…” she said, softly. “I’m awake, aren’t I? I’m not dreaming?”

“Not unless I am as well,” he told her, faint smile upon his face. “And mine are rarely this pleasant.”

She smiled too. She didn’t even know how he’d found out she was in danger. But he’d come for her anyway. She’d feared she’d never see him again, so terrified for him and his safety as sickness took a hold of her, and here he was. Looking at her with those dark brown eyes, full of…

Love. It had to be.

“It feels like so long since I saw you last,” she said. “Like months.”

“I’ve been assured it’s not yet been a week. But… I feel the same.” Then his expression fell, so suddenly that it made her heart ache. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I left very suddenly. I didn’t consider that you might worry about me. I thought… you would be glad to be rid of me. But Piper told me you would fret. And Preston told me that you were… thinking of me, while you were trapped.”

“I was.” Heart pounding, she carefully reached out towards him and took his bandaged hand. For a terrifying moment she thought he might pull away, but he didn’t, he closed his fingers around hers and leant forwards. “I think about you a lot.”

“I…” he started, but faltered soon afterwards. She didn’t interrupt, however. She could tell he was lining up something important, and once he was done it came out very quickly. “I don’t want to be apart from you again. Not for so long. And not if – not if you don’t want me to be. I know I – I’m just a machine, but-”

“I don’t care.” She said it so forcefully that he stopped dead. “It doesn’t matter to me. I just… I love you. I’d always love you. I always will.”

She felt his grip on her hand tighten, just a little. For once it was hard for her to read his face, so she experimentally tugged on his hand, and as she had hoped he moved closer, resting his head against hers. She kissed him on the forehead.

“It just would have been nice if it didn’t take a building falling on me to realise it.”

He was smiling, she could tell, properly smiling from ear to ear, and she couldn’t stop herself from copying the expression. She’d _made_ him that happy. And that made her happy, too. Happier than she’d been in a long time.

“The next time you have something you wish to discuss with me,” he said, and she could feel his voice vibrating against her as much as she could hear it, “I would appreciate it if you did not do that again.”

She kissed him again, unsure what else to do.

“I’ll try not to.”

There were a few pleasant moments of quiet as she laid her arms around his neck, stroking his hair and savouring just being _close_ to him, until a fresh bout of pain shot up from her leg and she winced.

“Are you alright?” Danse asked, pulling away. She nodded.

“Fine… it’s just my leg.” She tried to ignore it, before her memories all came back all at once. “Preston? What happened to him? Is he alright?”

“He was fine. I believe he is still here, somewhere, if you’d like me to find him. I imagine Piper and Valentine will want to speak with you, too.”

“Piper and Valentine?” she echoed. “They’re here as well?”

“Yes. We travelled together.”

“You? With Piper?” She was finding that to imagine. She could just picture the reporter, smirk on her face as she teased Danse, unamused as always. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“Initially, I didn’t. And truthfully I still find her infuriating. But I can tell that she’s a good woman. She was kind to me when I was in Diamond City.”

“You were in Diamond City? What even happened after I left?”

“Well…”

 

She spent the next half hour simply listening to Danse talk, telling her about the Minutemen he’d seen outside of Listening Post Bravo, his decision to walk to Diamond City, accidentally stepping on Ellie, Piper prodding him in the ribs, the Brotherhood soldiers that had walked in through the front gate. She listened and laughed and enjoyed his company, until there was a knock on the front door of the cabin and Danse stopped, immediately letting go of the hand he had been holding the entire time.

“Thought I heard talking,” said Valentine as he entered. He smiled. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”  
“It’s really good to see you, Nick,” said Keys. “Danse told me you all came to help me.”

“We sure did. We were originally heading up to the Slog but then a dozen Minutemen marched into Graygarden and we knew we had to help. Still need to get back to the Slog, actually. Got a case there.”

“Then you should go,” Keys told him. “You don’t have to wait around for me.”

“I wanted to, and so did Piper. Should probably let her know you’re up, actually. Unless you’d rather hold out for a little longer.”

“It’d be really nice to see her…” She shot Danse a half-questioning, half-apologetic look. He nodded, just once. “Yeah. Her, and Preston too. And everyone else who helped me, really.”

“Some of them are already on their way back to the Castle, Shaw didn’t give them much choice.”

“Ronnie Shaw? She came herself?”

“Yep.”

“She was a fine leader,” said Danse. “You should be sure to congratulate her for her hard work when you see her next.”

“I’m not sure she’d like that at all, but I’ll bear it in mind.” She smiled brightly. Yeah, Shaw would hate that. She might do it anyway, for that very reason. “But for now, where’s Piper? It’s been ages.”

She moved to swing her legs over the edge of the bed to stand up, but she wasn’t even in a sitting position by the time Danse had his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back down.

“You have to stay put,” he told her sternly but not without care. “The more you rest, the faster the infection will clear.”

“I already feel better than I did before. I feel fine, really.”

“Still better to play it safe,” said Valentine. “I thought that was one of your mottos, with the amount of sneaking around you do.”

“Well… alright. You have to go and find her for me then.”

“Preston too or do you want to take this one at a time?”

“Yeah, Preston too, why not. All my friends in one place… that’ll be nice.”

And it was. The room was soon full of the people she loved – Valentine leaning by the door, Piper standing at the foot of the bed waving her hands excitedly, Preston at the other end keeping a watchful eye, and Danse still right besides her, saying little but smiling often when she met his gaze. She couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be than right here. In a warm, sunny room, with all of her closest friends right here with her.

 Eventually her concentration began to slip, a sense of dizziness and headache catching up to her, so Piper and Preston both left her to rest, followed shortly after by Valentine.

“You coming, Danse?” he asked, pausing in the doorway. Danse frowned, and then looked at Keys. Before he could stand to leave she took his hand again, tugging it gently.

“You don’t have to go,” she said. “Though… I won’t make good company when I’m asleep, so it’s up to you.”

“If you would like me to stay then I’ll gladly remain with you.”

She nodded, the fear that he’d say no being swiftly washed away. She knew it was foolish, and more than a little clingy, but he _had_ said he didn’t want to be apart from her again and for the time being she was going to take him up on that. She had missed time to catch up on. So once Valentine had left, a faint smirk on his face, she laid back down and let the pillows envelop her. Danse rested his arms on the side of her bed again, and she stroked his hair again, and then she slept again. And Danse stayed by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the concluding chapter. The last time I was so nervous to post something online was when I was sharing the FIRST chapter - romance isn't my usual genre of choice but I have too many feelings for Danse so here we are, 35k words later, and I really hope you found it satisfying.
> 
> For everyone who's read, commented or given kudos: thank you so much for all your support. It's been really nice to dip back into classic 'fandom' and find it a welcoming place, and I definitely hope to publish something here again. Until then, I can be found at my tumblr, eggplantwitch, though I can't promise the same level of lexical coherency there that I show in my fanfic.
> 
> And again: thanks for reading!


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